


Unremarkable Things

by Pouler (poulerslashes)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Turned Into a Ghost, Eventual Happy Ending, I promise!, Just Like Heaven au, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mortality, don't need to have seen the movie though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4058380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poulerslashes/pseuds/Pouler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While caught in a transitional phase of his life, Asahi moves into a new apartment. But as it turns out, his new place doesn’t appear to be quite as unoccupied as he expected... ((Currently on hiatus. Will resume updating after Vienna is completed.))</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a ‘Just Like Heaven’ AU, and if you’ve seen the movie, you know what I’m talking about with the warnings above. You won’t need to have seen the movie to enjoy the story though. This is a romcom ghost story at heart, with a few twists. Despite all the difficult things below, this will, for the most part, be a comedic story with a happy ending, I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***PLEASE NOTE*** At the very beginning of this chapter, there is a somewhat morbid description of roadkill. If this will bother you, hit CTRL+F and jump down to the phrase “The memory faded with time"

When he was seven years old, he witnessed a rabbit being struck by a car. It made a thump, much more solid than he would've expected, and then the car kept going as though the collision had never happened. When the car was gone, he crossed into the street from where he'd been playing in the yard.

At first, it seemed as though the rabbit hadn't even been injured – though it lay still on the pavement and did not stir. He approached it from the back, and got a long look at the darker fur along its spine, black mixed with gray-flecked down. It had white fur in its ears. When he came around the front of the animal, he saw the truth for what it was – the rabbit had been split down the front, its organs on full display in the street.  


He realized its heart was still beating. He watched the little thing, barely the size of a strawberry, as it stuttered and pulsed. When he looked at the rabbit's face he saw its eye darting around in blind panic. Otherwise, the rabbit never moved again.  


It was probably only a moment he stood there, until the heart stilled and the eye glossed over, until another car approached on the road and he was forced to step back onto the sidewalk to avoid being struck himself. But it felt like the world had paused, the span of a year passing in that hairsbreadth of a second, and when he came out the other side he was forever altered from it. When the family dog had to be put down a year and a half later, he'd sat patiently while his parents gave the softened explanation to his three-year-old sister of where the dog was going. After his mother picked the sobbing child up and took her to bed, he'd turned to his dad and said, quite solemnly, "I know what death is, Dad." He remembered the way the rabbit's eye had moved, looking for escape, looking for somewhere to hide.  


The memory faded with time, rubbed down to a dull pebble in the corner of his mind. It got buried behind a million other things – school and cartoons and junk food and sports and girls and, if he were honest, more than a couple boys. So when he made it to his late twenties, off on his own with an apartment that boasted a fireplace, a balcony, and a washer-dryer set, it seemed odd that he'd suddenly thought of that little rabbit, and the way it desperately clung to its waning life.  


He woke from the memory as though from a dream and found himself standing in his bedroom, staring at the painting on the wall. It was a print of an old woodblock piece, something tickling the back of his mind, where had he seen that painting before?  


Slowly he realized that he heard dull voices coming from the living room. Had he left the television on? He couldn't seem to remember. He had a vague recollection of being at work, of being home, though he couldn't remember moving from one place to the other.  


He stepped into the hallway. The door had been weird – had it stuck? It had been closed, then he was in the hallway, and he looked behind himself and saw he was on the other side of the door, closed again. He must've shut it on the way out of the room, and yet...  


The voices continued from the living room. He heard the dull roar of a crowd, the echoing timbre of an announcement system. A sporting event, most likely. He must've left the TV on and gone for something in the bedroom, and forgot why he was there. That was odd. Wasn't like him to lose focus like that.  


Or was it?  


He headed for the living room. Maybe if he went back to the scene, he'd remember what he was doing there, why he'd gotten up in the first place. He crossed through the dining room, passed the kitchen, and very nearly ran right into an intruder in his living room. A _massive_ intruder, tall and broad and unkempt, with long hair and an unshaven face.  


They shouted in alarm together in unison, and the intruder sprayed the beer he'd been opening all over himself and the hardwood floor. After the initial cry, they stared at each other in flummoxed silence, while the television droned on beside them.  


~  


Azumane Asahi was twenty-eight, and he found himself perched on the precipice of life, teetering on the edge precariously close to oblivion – and, perhaps more importantly, in need of a new apartment. So he turned to the most reasonable and practical person he knew for help, since god forbid that Asahi attempt to find a place on his own, with his budget and his negotiating skills.  


"Don't you know how hard it is to find a sublet in this city?" Daichi groaned at him. "And in the spring too. If you can hold on two months, all the students will be going home for the summer and a lot more will be available–"  


"No," Asahi cut in. "I need a new place. The landlord wants me out by the end of the week."  


He heard Daichi sigh on the other end of the phone call. "You couldn't have told me sooner? Well, let me make some calls," he said, and the next day he came back to Asahi with a list.  


"Your prospects aren't great," Daichi asserted, as they walked down the street from the station where they'd met up. "Being that you have no proof-of-income and need the place to be furnished."  


"Yeah, I get it," Asahi mumbled.  


"Look, if you need a place to stay, I really don't mind if you–"  


"I'd like to have my own place," Asahi said. "I'd like to maintain some semblance of functional adulthood." He tried to keep the resignation out of his voice, with limited success.

Daichi gave him _that look_ , the one he was so good at, the one that told Asahi that Daichi very much thought he was being very ridiculous, though he was trying _very_ hard not to say so. "Alright," he sighed. "Let's look at the list, then."  


The first apartment was practically a shoebox, essentially one long hallway of a room, with a tiny door at the far end that held the toilet. "Where is the bath??" Asahi blurted in mild distress.  


"Communal," Daichi returned, looking at the flyer in his hand.  


Asahi looked over his shoulder. Behind them the front door of the apartment was still open, and through the doorway he spied a lady of no less than seventy-five peeking in. She looked him up and down and then tittered behind her hand. She threw Asahi a wink.  


" _No_ ," he said sharply. " _Not happening._ "  


The second apartment contained approximately four hundred cats. Asahi was estimating. He counted first hand at least fourteen. Fifteen? It was possible one of the cats either had an identical twin, or had teleported from one room to the next as he stepped through the doorway. For what Asahi understood about cats, either seemed equally plausible.  


"The rent is a steal," Daichi explained as he carefully placed his feet. "But you are expected to take care of the." He squinted at the paper. "Current residents," he concluded.  


"This isn't so bad," Asahi said cautiously. "At least I wouldn't be alone." The sentiment lasted all of ten seconds before a unseen fifteenth (sixteenth?) resident launched itself onto his head from the ceiling fan.  


There were half a dozen more apartments to look at after that, all increasingly desperate – save one, which neither Daichi nor Asahi could figure out, for the life of them, why it was listed so cheaply – until they stepped into the back bedroom, and saw that someone had forgotten to take down the 'crime scene' tape.  


"So embarrassing!" the landlord had said hurriedly. "It's all sorted now, though. I was told the individual has a pretty solid case against them, so the place may become available indefinitely!"  


"We'll get back to you," Daichi said in return, after a glance at Asahi's face.  


Outside the building, Asahi put his hands over his face and groaned aloud. "What's next?"  


"That's the entire list," Daichi said. "That's all I could round up on such short notice." He huffed. "I don't know what you expected to happen."

"The one with the roommate, that one wasn't so bad, right?"  


"The one with the thin layer of pubes over every surface in the bath? That one?"

Asahi groaned again and looked at the sky. "Maybe I'm just meant to be homeless. I could be a vagabond. I could do odd jobs for scraps."  


Daichi shook him hard by the shoulder. "You do have the look for it. But Asahi – Asahi, why don't you just come stay with me for awhile," he said. "Not long, just until you get back your feet. Until a better option opens up."

"Maybe," Asahi said dejectedly. The wind picked up, and a piece of paper fluttered against his leg. He brushed it away. "Maybe that would be best."  


"Of course it is," Daichi said. "My place might be small, but it's not for long, right? You just need to stop moping and get out there more. Things'll pick up."  


"Sure," Asahi agreed flatly. The wind blew again, the opposite direction this time, and the paper came back, directly against his face.  


"Let's give it a month," Daichi continued. "We'll try again in a month."  


Asahi pulled the paper off his face. It was a flyer. An apartment posting.  


AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY  
1 Bed/1 Bath, Furnished  
Fireplace, Balcony  
W/D installed  
RENT NEGOTIABLE

Asahi looked at the address and realized the building was across the street. He looked up over Daichi's head. It was modern, neat and trim, with huge banks of windows. Something odd took hold of him, some pull from deep inside, a tug at the base of his spine.  


"Asahi, are you listening?" Daichi grumbled.  


Asahi handed him the flyer and stepped up to the curb. He glanced both ways and began to cross the street.  


"Asahi!"  


Asahi kept going.  


Daichi jogged to catch up with him in front of the building. "Look, a place like this, I bet it's already gone," he said.  


Asahi put his hand on the door.  


"Okay!" Daichi said. "Okay! I'll call the lessor."  


The apartment was on the third floor. They managed to get the keys from the front office, though the man behind the desk seemed hesitant to hand them over. When they got up to the apartment, Asahi took one look around the space and decided he believed in fate.  


"Well, that explains it," Daichi said when he hung up his phone. "It's just a month-to-month deal, no longer lease available. And renters are not allowed to make any alterations to the premises." He looked around the place. "It's a shame too. It's a pretty nice place, really."  


Asahi nodded. It had a full kitchen attached to a small dining room. The living room had several large windows, which filled the space with natural light. Down the hallway he could see a few doors. Bedroom, bath, toilet, he assumed. It was all hardwood floor with a few rugs, and the furnishings were sparse but comfortable. There was a television, a couch, a weight bench in the corner of the living room, a little table in the dining room. There were pots hanging above the island in the kitchen. It looked lived in. It looked like a _home_.

Asahi wondered if he imagined the pain twinging in his chest. He wondered if he imagined the feeling of slotting into place, like a puzzle piece.  


"I'll take it," he said.  


"Asahi," Daichi said firmly, "what if you're just out again on the street in a month–"  


"It's perfect," Asahi said. "I'll take it."

The rent was well within his budget, which didn't surprise him. Somehow Asahi _knew_ it would be. The lessor showed up within an hour. She was a petite lady who looked no more than twenty years old. She had wide amber eyes. "I'm not the owner," she explained. "But I'm legally responsible for the premises at the present time."  


Daichi gave him a look of alarm, but Asahi had been taken over by a strange calmness. He didn't question the phrasing, or the leasing document that was placed in front of him. The man in the front office didn't act as though anything unusual was happening, so Asahi, for the first time in his life, decided to just go with it. Wasn't that what his brother had always told him to do? _Figure out what your gut wants, and just learn to do that sometimes._  


Asahi wanted that apartment. Wanted it with a desperation that should have terrified him. But it didn't, somehow. So he signed the lease, got the keys, and went back up the stairs.  


"Do you wanna go get your stuff?" Daichi asked, as they stood again in the middle of the living room. "At your old place?"  


"Tomorrow," Asahi said. "There's not much to get anyway."  


Daichi gave him _the look_ again. "Are you sure about this?"  


Asahi looked around the apartment. He sat down on the couch. It was worn and comfortable, and he sank into the cushion immediately. "I'm not sure about anything right now," he admitted. "But I feel like this is a start."  


Daichi's stern expression softened. "Okay," he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. "I can help tomorrow after practice. Want me to bring any of the other guys?"  


"No," Asahi said.  


"You know, you should talk to them sometime," Daichi suggested. "They keep asking about you."  


Asahi put his head in his hands and braced his elbows against his knees. "Daichi," he said weakly.  


He heard Daichi sigh somewhere above his head. "Alright, alright. Well call if you need anything."  


Asahi nodded. "Thank you." He looked up at his friend. "For everything, I mean it."  


"It's not always gonna be shit, Asahi," Daichi reminded him. "You got a nice place here. Windows, a fireplace, a view. You just need to look up and see it."  


Asahi nodded again. "I'm trying," he said. "I really am."  


After Daichi left, Asahi called in take-out for dinner. As he waited, he meandered around the apartment, checking all the cabinets and drawers. It was more than a little odd. Some things were empty – no clothes in the closets or dresser, no toothbrush in the holder – but there were photos on the walls, people he didn't recognize. An older couple, a few kids at varying ages. The large bed had sheets, a homey-looking quilt. The shelves in the kitchen were full of plates and glasses, coffee mugs and cereal bowls. The pantry had unopened boxes of food, an untouched bag of rice. One cabinet boasted a bottle of whiskey, two-thirds full, and a half-empty case of beer. There was a lone bookcase in the living room, hosting an assortment of trashy pulp novels, a few mystery thrillers, a truly embarrassing amount of comics, and a number of texts on physical therapy and general health. Asahi couldn't decide if the apartment had been stocked for a lone teenager or a family of four.  


In the media cabinet he found a impressive selection of action films, sports highlight reels, and, to his pleasant surprise, quite a few classic samurai movies. It was one of these he put in when his food came, and he set to finishing off the beer that was in the cabinet. After all, Asahi mused, it was close to its expiration date. And if he replaced it later – well, it didn't really count as altering the premises, did it?  


The second half of the movie began to blur together. Asahi rubbed at his eyes blearily and looked at the unfamiliar ceiling. He began to wonder what exactly he was doing there. How had it happened?  


There was a shuffling sound to his left.  


Asahi startled badly and kicked his open beer off the coffee table. It rolled across the hardwood, foaming beer as it went. "Shit!" Asahi's curse got swallowed up by the empty apartment. He went into the kitchen to grab a dishtowel and another can.  


He cleaned up the spill as he wobbled a little in place. What had the noise been? He was alone in the apartment, that much was sure. He was alone. Asahi was always alone, these days.  


Slowly he realized that the movie was over, and silence had descended upon the unfamiliar space like a shroud. Asahi froze where he stood, conscious of the sound of his own breathing, the creak and sigh of the alien building around him. The fridge clicked on with a low hum, impossibly loud in the stillness.  


From somewhere else in the apartment, a door creaked, a floorboard groaned.  


Asahi closed his eyes, breathing hard. It was nothing. It was nothing. It was a strange space, new and unsettling, and he was tired, he was drunk. He was alone. No one else had the keys. He hadn't heard the front door open. Nothing had come in through the windows. His mind was running away from him, as it did in the darkness when he didn't keep it occupied.  


Asahi went back to the media cabinet and dug out another dvd, one of the sports ones. He looked at it only briefly, not even bothering to read the description. It wasn't until the damn thing started playing that Asahi realized it was about volleyball. He groaned out loud and sat down on the floor  in front of the television with a thump. He debated ejecting the disc, finding a new one – but some masochistic streak inside him kept his hand from hitting the button.  


At length he remembered the new beer, still sitting on the coffee table, just out of his reach. Asahi groaned and stretched, nearly face-planted on the floor, before he finally lurched to his feet. Last one, he promised himself. Just that one more. Then bed.  


He bent over the coffee table to pick up the beer – missed the first time, had to reassess his angle of attack and try again – and when he straightened, finger already pulling back the tab, he looked up just in time to see someone nearly run into him.  


The other person – a young man, short and trim – shouted loudly in shock, while Asahi joined in mutual distress, flailing in terror. Beer sprayed over his hand and his shirt, then dribbled onto the floor.

There was a beat of silence in which the young man stared at him, wide eyes furious in his face – and then he leveled a finger directly at Asahi's face and shouted, "Don't think because you're bigger than me I can't kick your ass! Get the hell out of my place!"

Somewhere in the haze of fright and alcohol, Asahi's brain caught on the words 'my' and 'place'. He shook his head. "Your place," he squawked. He licked his lips and tried again, voice louder. " _Your_ place?"  


The other man stepped around him and froze at the haphazard sprawl of cans and takeout boxes strewn in front of the couch. "What the hell, you've made such a mess! How did you even get in here?"  


"Wait," Asahi said. "Wait! This isn't _your_ place!"  


The smaller man rounded on Asahi, eyes blazing. "You bet your ass it is," he returned.  


"Since when is it yours!" Asahi demanded. Anger was starting to burn a hole in his brain, white-hot.  


"Since I signed the mortgage. Since I got the _keys_."  


"The keys! The _keys_? Wait," Asahi said again. A tiny idea was winking to life, tickling in the back of his mind. "Oh god. I knew this place was too good to be true." He wiped his chin with his hand. "You know what happened, don't you?"  


"What's that?" the man returned, voice tight.

"It's a rent scam!" Asahi rubbed his face again. "I bet you five different people got the keys and the lease."  


"And moved in all their stuff?"  


"Yeah and – what?" Asahi looked around. "Their stuff?"  


"Yeah!" the smaller man insisted. "That's my couch and my table – and my bench and my dvd you're watching – and that's my – " he stopped. Stared at the wall. "What did you do with it?!"  


"What?" Asahi craned his head around, but the wall was empty. "I didn't do anything!"  


"There was a–" The man blinked, his brow furrowing. "It was–" He looked confused for a moment. His eyebrows knit together above his eyes. "Well, never mind what it was – what did you do with it?"  
  
"I don't even know what you're talking about!" Asahi shouted.

"That's it!" The man stepped back around Asahi, headed for the kitchen. "I'm calling the cops." He rounded the corner, out of Asahi's line of sight.  


The word 'cops' stabbed into Asahi's ear. "Wait!" he shouted once more, "let me explain!" He hurried after the small man toward the kitchen.  


When he came around the corner, no one was there. Asahi froze. The landline phone hung beside the fridge, untouched. At length, he picked it up. Maybe there was another receiver somewhere in the apartment? But only the dial tone sounded in his ear, and Asahi set the phone back down again. "Hello?" he called out tentatively. No answer came back at him. "S-sir?" he tried again. "Excuse me!" he shouted.  


He was alone again in the apartment.  


Asahi poured his beer down the sink. He cleaned up the mess in the living room. After a quick search of every room in the apartment – all empty, everything in place and undisturbed – he double and triple-checked the lock on the door, the latches on all the windows.  


It was late, he mused. He was drunk. It had been a stressful week.  


He told himself this repeatedly as he stripped down to his boxers and climbed into the bed. It was late. He was drunk. It had been a stressful week. He closed his eyes and tried not listen to the soft ambient noises of the apartment settling around him. _It was late._ He heard a floorboard creak. _He was drunk._ The ceiling fan rocked quietly above him like a metronome. _It had been a stressful week_.  


Asahi managed to drift off eventually, though not before he heard – or imagined – the soft whispering sigh of the faucet in the bathroom, the clink of silverware in the kitchen, the sounds of a place still lived in, a home still occupied.  


~  


"What did they tell you about that apartment?" Asahi asked Daichi the next day, as they loaded a couple of the boxes that held Asahi's few worldly goods into the car he'd borrowed from his brother.  


"Not much," Daichi returned. "I get the feeling they're playing the situation pretty close to the chest." He frowned and shoved the box of clothes he was carrying into the backseat of the vehicle. "What was that whole business with the girl yesterday? Legally responsible at the present time, what did that mean? Kinda weird if you ask me."  


"Any complaints from previous renters?"  


"Well, you didn't exactly give me time to conduct a background check or anything, Asahi," Daichi intoned. He leaned on the car. "What, having second thoughts already?"  


"No," Asahi mumbled. "Well. Maybe." He chewed on his lip. "Daichi, do you believe in ghosts?"  


"Ghosts!" Daichi laughed. "Is the big new apartment too scary for you?"  


"N-no, it's not that..." Asahi let his gaze slide to the side. He debated telling Daichi about the man he'd seen the night before, the one he'd attributed to a drunken hallucination until he'd stepped out of the shower that morning, wiped the condensation off the mirror, and saw the furious pair of amber eyes staring at him in the reflection. ' _I told you to get out!'_ the apparition had shouted, but when Asahi turned around there was no one behind him, and no one in the mirror but himself when he looked back again.  


"I might be. Seeing someone," he mumbled.  


" _Really_?" Daichi returned. "Since when?" He looked concerned suddenly, eyebrows dropping low over his eyes. "You never go anywhere. Where'd you meet them? You didn't try internet dating, did you? Are you sure its not someone trying to scam you?"  


"Daichi, no one is scamming me."  


"Are you sure? Don't you still get that magazine subscription?"  
  
"That's – that's not the point!"Asahi closed the trunk of the car a little too hard. It bounced on its shocks. "I'm not _dating_ anyone, I didn't mean it like that. I'm... _seeing_ someone. In the apartment."

"What, like maintenance?"  


Asahi managed to arrange his features into a glare.  


"Oh," Daichi said. "Hence the question. Do I believe in ghosts, ecetera..."  


"It's crazy, right? It sounds crazy." Asahi rubbed his face miserably.  


Daichi pinned him with a severe look. "Answer me honestly, Asahi. How much have you been drinking lately?"  


"I mean, _some_..."  


"Asahi."  


"Okay, okay!" Asahi blurted. "I was drunk last night! But I still saw him! He was real, alright!"  


"Him?" Daichi echoed. "It's a guy?"  


"Yeah," Asahi mumbled. "A young guy." The ramifications bothered him. If it _was_ a ghost. Did ghosts take the age that they died? The guy looked younger than he was.

Daichi sighed and rubbed his temple. "Asahi, you gotta get out more. You've been holed up god knows how long, moping around–"  


"I'm not moping."  


"– _moping around_ ," Daichi repeated more firmly. "Why don't we go for a run this afternoon, yeah? You can handle a run, can't you?"  


"I can run, Daichi," Asahi muttered.

"Okay, then. Let's say four o'clock."  


"Okay."  


Daichi leaned against the car. He looked around at the street and rubbed his neck. "You're still going to therapy, right?"  


" _Daichi_ ," Asahi groaned, "Can we not talk about it?"

"Look, this is no picnic for me either," Daichi returned irritably. "You think I like constantly needling you about it? But you don't seem to wanna talk to anybody else, and if I leave you alone I know you'll just retreat into a black hole again." He jabbed Asahi in the chest with his index finger.   


"Yes, Daichi, I'm going to therapy," Asahi mumbled. "Let's just get the rest of my stuff for now, okay?"  
  
Daichi looked up over Asahi's shoulder, down the street behind him. "Just in time, looks like the rest of the cavalry is here."

"What d'you–"  


"Asahi-san! Daichi-san!" The voice wafted to them from a distance.

Asahi spun around and caught a glimpse of sunlight glinting off a fair shock of hair. "Daichi," he said evenly, "did you invite Hinata to help me move?"  


"Yes, and Kageyama and Tanaka."

" _Daichi_!"  


"Oh, grow up, Asahi," Daichi laughed, and he clapped Asahi on the shoulder. "They're your friends and they're worried about you."  


Asahi rubbed his temples desperately. He hadn't seen the other guys in weeks. "But what if they... I don't want them... to think less of me."  


"They're your friends, Asahi," Daichi repeated, more gently. He waved at the three approaching from down the road. "Just buy them some pizza and they'll forget everything else."

Even at the distance, Asahi could hear Kageyama yelling at Hinata, though he couldn't make out the words. He also heard Tanaka's sharp admonishment – Asahi could imagine his face contorted gruesomely in an attempt to intimidate the younger guys. He felt a small smile tickling the corners of his mouth. "Maybe you're right," he admitted.  


"I'm always right," Daichi said.  


"I think 'always' seems a little exaggerated."  


"Don't disrespect me, son," Daichi said. He elbowed Asahi hard in the ribs, just in time for the others to catch up with them.

"Daichi-san, Asahi-san, good morning!" Hinata chirped, at the same moment that Kageyama intoned, "You look awful."  


"Don't say it so outright!" Tanaka ordered with a sharp chop to the back of Kageyama's neck.  


"N-no, it's okay," Asahi insisted. He rubbed his chin. "I probably should've... shaved."  


"Yeah. Three weeks ago," Daichi supplied helpfully.  


"It's alright, Asahi-san!" Tanaka said. "It makes you look..." He petered out.  


"...homeless?" Hinata offered haltingly.  


"That's not really a good thing, is it?" Kageyama said.  


"I was gonna say rugged," Tanaka said with a shrug.  


"I think he'd have to be in the woods to be rugged – in the city he just looks–"  


" _Anyway_ ," Asahi cut in. "There's not much else to carry but a couple boxes. You guys don't have to–"  


"Asahi," Daichi said. "Aren't you glad your friends came to help you out? Why don't you tell them how glad you are."  
  
Asahi bit his lip. He looked down at the three of them, all looking up at him with varying degrees of outright admiration. Not one of them had anything remotely resembling pity on their faces – and he knew first-hand that the trio in front of him was fairly bad at keeping their true feelings under wraps. He was glad. He really was. "Yeah, it's... it's good to see you guys," he stuttered.

Asahi swore that Tanaka teared up. Hinata lit up like a light bulb, and Kageyama practically vibrated in place with a severe expression plastered across his face.  


"So... shall we get the rest of it?"  


The resounding, multi-voiced "Yes!" that answered him filled Asahi up like a balloon. Daichi grinned at him. Asahi cupped the back of his neck, self-conscious of how pleased he was. He didn't think of the apparition again for the rest of the morning.  


~  


When the last of the boxes were piled in the foyer of the new apartment, Asahi sent the boys off with a promise that they'd all have lunch at some not-so-distant date.  


"Four o'clock," Daichi reminded him as he headed out the door. "I'll meet you at the park where we always used to go."  


"My therapist is going to be so pleased," Asahi returned. "I'll have to dig out the brace though."  


"Aren't you supposed to be wearing it anyway?"

"Four o'clock," Asahi said quickly. "I'll be there."  


"Oh, fine." Daichi went out the door. Asahi stepped into the doorway to watch him retreat down the hallway. Just before the stairwell, Daichi looked back over his shoulder. "Don't pick up any more stray ghost boyfriends before this afternoon, alright?"

"Helpful!" Asahi called after him. Daichi just waved over his shoulder without turning around. When he disappeared down the stairs, Asahi stepped back into the apartment and closed the door. He closed the latch once, then unlocked and redid it again.

Would a lock stop a ghost? Admittedly, Asahi wasn't sure. Hadn't seemed to work so far.  


Altogether he was a little too hungover for this. Moving boxes had been bad enough, and his leg was starting to complain. That run with Daichi was probably destined for a raincheck. Asahi found aspirin in a cabinet in the kitchen, so he grabbed a mug and filled it with water from the sink to wash down the pills.  


When he turned around the ghost was standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, glowering at him with the full heat of an industrial furnace. Asahi choked on his water and nearly dropped the mug.  


"I'm just gonna ask this one more time," the ghost said. "What the hell are you doing in my apartment?"  


Asahi swallowed and set the mug down on the counter so he wouldn't break it. "It's my apartment," he said in a quiet voice. "I live here now."  


"No, that's just not possible," the ghost said.  


"Let me ask you a question," Asahi suggested. He tried hard to keep the waver out of his voice, with reasonable success. "How long do you think you have been here?"  


"What kinda question is that?"  


Asahi bit his lip and forced his nervousness down. "You say you live here, right? How long have you been here?"  


The ghost opened his mouth, then Asahi saw the words leave him. His brow furrowed apprehensively, and he closed his mouth again. He was really quite striking-looking, Asahi noticed, with a round face and wide eyes, a sharp brow and a wild shock of dark hair. He looked fully solid, by all appearances just another guy standing in the middle of Asahi's kitchen. He was dressed in modern clothing, a pair of black running shorts and a red hoodie that said ' _Once In A Lifetime_ ' in an artistic hand.  


"That's–" the ghost mumbled finally, "that's none of your business."  


"You don't remember, do you?" Asahi asked, emboldened by the sudden insecurity painted on the ghost's features.  


"Well, it's been awhile," the ghost explained quickly. "Between work and life and everything, the days run together."  


Asahi switched tactics. "So you have a job? Where do you work?"  


"I'm..." The ghost frowned. "I'm certainly more employed than you are. You look like a homeless person." He eyed Asahi fiercely. "You _are_ a homeless person, aren't you?"  


"How can I be homeless when I live here!" Asahi had raised his voice unconsciously, and he reigned himself back through sheer force of will. He rubbed his hand down his face with a sigh. "Look," he said, when his tone was even again. "We got off on the wrong foot. My name's Azumane. What's yours?"  


"My name?" the ghost repeated cautiously.  


"Sure," Asahi said. "That's an easy one, right? Just your name."  


The ghost looked at him a moment, then his eyes darted around the kitchen. "My name," he said again, softly. Nervously. He looked back at Asahi, who saw, for the first time, a real flash of fear in those pointed features.  


"Don't you remember your name?" Asahi asked slowly. He took a step toward the ghost, and the ghost took a step back. "Wait," Asahi said, "I don't mean to scare you."  


"I told you to get out of my place," the ghost said tightly. "I told you to leave."  


"Hang on a minute," Asahi implored. He stepped forward again, a little faster.  


"You stay back!" the ghost ordered as he backtracked. "I'm warning you!"  


"I just want you to talk to me!" Asahi continued desperately, voice raising once more.  


"I'm done talking!" the ghost shouted back as he continued retreating into the dining room. "If you don't get out of my apartment, I'll–! I'll..." The threat petered out. His eyebrows came down again in a hard line. "What are you staring at?"  


Asahi had stopped advancing. He stood frozen in place, mouth open in shock. He pointed wordlessly.  


The ghost looked down and seemed to notice for the first time he was standing in the middle of the table. Literally _in_ the middle of the table, bisected like a magic trick, the top half of his torso visible above the wooden surface, legs hidden somewhere below. "What. The. _Fuck?_ " He raised his arms in alarm.  


"Don't panic," Asahi finally managed.  


" _Don't panic??_ " the ghost echoed furiously. "What the fuck is happening to me!"  


"I think – you might be dead," Asahi whispered. The ghost whipped his head up from where he'd been  looking down at himself and pinned Asahi in place with a look that was equal parts terror and anger. Asahi quickly realized it might not have been the best way to broach the topic.  


"Is that – do you – what–" the ghost floundered. At length he fisted his hands at his sides – or, Asahi assumed he did, since his hands disappeared below the surface of the table. "I'm not dead," he said, his voice tight and low and terrifying.  


"I'm sorry," Asahi said gently. "I know it's probably a shock."  


"I don't know how you're doing this," the ghost hissed, "but I'm done playing this game." He backed away from Asahi again, out of the table towards the living room. "Stay right there," he ordered sharply, then he turned on his heel, took one step, and disappeared entirely.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Now I know what a ghost is. Unfinished business, that's what.” -Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses

Asahi stood between the kitchen and dining room, fixed to the spot by immovable awe for longer than he cared to admit to himself, but the ghost did not return. In the silence that followed their interaction, he felt panic stampede up his spine until it lodged somewhere in his brainstem above his hunched shoulders. Then it splintered before entering his brain, and smoothed out into a long, sustained note of numb calm. He leisurely walked to the door and grabbed his jacket off the hook, and then locked the door twice behind himself.

So he was living in a haunted apartment. Things could be worse. It was very affordable, after all, and his savings, while sizable, were not infinite. And they could communicate! Or they could _try_ , at any rate. Asahi was going to have to figure out how to convince the ghost that he was neither a squatter nor a crazy person– 

He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and put his hands over his face to keep the hysterical laughter from bubbling out of his throat. At least, he _hoped_ he wasn't a crazy person. He almost wished the ghost had shown himself when Daichi and the others were around – but then again, if they didn't see the ghost when Asahi did, well... that might've been too much to bear. 

His destination was a small bookstore a handful of blocks away, one he'd noticed earlier when looking around the neighborhood. 'Black Cat Books' was the name burned into the wooden sign above the door, along with a small, slinking silhouette of a slender cat, fully black save for its painted green eyes. Through the window it looked dark and claustrophobic, but the vinyl decals on the glass read "Paranormal, UFO, Clairvoyance, Astrology, Spiritual Health", so Asahi went in. 

The bell on the door chimed as he stepped through it. The lip of the doorframe was raised slightly, and Asahi tripped over it and stumbled a few steps into the space before he caught himself on the edge of a display case. The store was still and oddly silent; as soon as the door closed behind him the sound of the street outside was deadened almost entirely. In the quietness the chime seemed to echo even after it faded. Asahi felt like he could still feel it ringing just below his audible threshold. 

He straightened back up again slowly, taking a moment to adjust in the dimness. The store was close and musty. It reminded him of his grandmother's house – it _smelled_ like his grandmother's house, like incense and old papers. It even looked a little bit like it, odd sculptures hanging from the ceiling and the walkways obstructed with stacks of outdated magazines. Asahi appraised the rows of bookcases in front of him, each labeled with a particular field of pseudoscientific study. _Cryptozoology_ , one shelf said _. Parapsychology. Telepathy/ESP_. He put a fist to his mouth and breathed hard through his fingers. His eldest brother would probably disown him for being in that sort of bookstore. 

"Good afternoon, sir," a voice said, disturbingly close to Asahi's person. He yelped and jumped in place. He whipped around and saw a man, tall and thin, with heavy-lidded eyes and the most ridiculous hair Asahi had ever seen. "May I help you find anything?" the man asked. His voice was sly and sonorous. 

"Um." Asahi coughed into his hand. "D'you have much. On. Ghosts?" 

"Ah, yes," the man said. "Ghosts. They who are not yet at rest. The dearly should-be departed. Those still clinging along the mortal coil." He paused, lips pursing. He glanced aside at Asahi, as though suddenly remembering he was there. "Those kind of ghosts?" 

"I... think?" 

He looped an arm around Asahi's shoulders. "Trying to communicate with the great beyond? Who is it? Family member? Friend?" He pitched his voice low. "Old lover?" 

" _No_ ," Asahi said quickly. He ducked out from underneath the man's arm. "Just some general information. You know. About hauntings and stuff." 

"I see, I see." He tapped a finger with a black painted nail to his lips, thinking hard. "A3." 

"Sorry?" 

"Row A3." The man took Asahi's elbow in hand and pulled him toward a corner of the store. "Ghost stories, so-strange-it-must-be-true stories, beyond the grave happenings, and so on." 

Asahi cleared his throat. "That's not really–" 

"Here we are." The man pulled them up to a case, packed floor to ceiling with books in a variety of languages. "All the material on phantoms, spectres, and wraiths you could ever hope to desire." 

"O-oh," Asahi said meekly. He felt himself being slowly crushed beneath the weight of all the options before him. "Where," he stammered, "where would you suggest I get started? 

"Hmmmm..." The man started pulling books out from the shelf and pushing them against Asahi's chest. Asahi caught each one instinctively. "A lot of it is garbage, you understand. I'm not supposed to say that, but it's true." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "There are some people who think that ghosts are just aliens in disguise, and I mean." He rolled his eyes. "Right? You know what I mean." 

"Y-yeah," Asahi agreed haltingly. He hadn't even considered the possibility. Maybe the ghost in his apartment _was_ an alien. It would explain the unsettling, otherworldly intensity of his glare. 

The man stacked another book onto the precariously stacked pile of no less than a dozen that Asahi was holding. "I mean, we're tryin' to make a living, so we gotta put what people want on the shelves. But xenology, ufology, it's not even real science, you know?" 

"No...." Asahi murmured, nodding slowly. His arms were starting to ache under the weight of the books. 

A soft voice wafted from their left. "Kuroo." 

Asahi turned his head and noticed a forehead and a pair of golden eyes peeking around the edge of the bookcase. 

"Kuroo," the voice came again, even quieter. "He doesn't need that." 

"Kenma," said the man next to Asahi. "This man needs literature. We can provide that literature." 

"He doesn't need that." The owner of the forehead crept slowly into view. It was another young man, somewhat shorter, hunched and unsteady-looking. He had long, lank hair that appeared as though it had been dyed a pale purple at one point but was now half-grown out. He kept his eyes on the floor as he took a meager step toward them. He finally glanced upward, meeting Asahi's eyes for the briefest moment before his gaze continued on until he was staring upward above their heads. "Contact isn't the problem," he said finally. His gaze darted between invisible dust motes on the ceiling. 

The other man blinked a few times, then spun on Asahi and peered hard into his face, indecently close. "You're telling me this guy's the real thing?" 

"Excuse me–" Asahi said. 

"How can you tell?" the man called Kuroo asked as he turned back. His hand was on Asahi's shoulder, which was trembling under the strain of the twenty or so books that had been piled into his arms. Asahi felt a drop of sweat slide behind his ear. 

"It's. His." Kenma wiggled his hands around in front of his chest. He looked at the floor again. "It's really. Cloudy." 

"That could mean anything," Kuroo said as he stepped over toward the smaller man, his tone laced with a frown. 

"...something's attached," Kenma mumbled. 

"Excuse me!" Asahi blurted, overly loud in the quiet space, and the two men looked back at him again. At least, the taller man did. Kenma's gaze seemed to be fixated somewhere to the left of his shoulder. 

Nervous in the onslaught of sudden attention, Asahi felt himself shrink slightly, his shoulders raising defensively. "Excuse me," he repeated a third time, more quietly, "what're you talking about?" 

Kuroo looked aside at Kenma for a moment. Kenma fiddled with his cardigan. "A moment, please," Kuroo said, and he took Kenma by the the shoulder and pulled him around a corner out of sight. 

Asahi could hear them speaking together unseen in hushed, stiff tones. He could feel his sweaty hands slipping against the glossy book jackets. Nearby, there was a sparse wooden chair, like one from a kitchen set, misplaced and lonely. Asahi stepped over to the chair and set the books down with no small amount of relief. 

_Past Lives and You_ , the book at the top of the stack was titled. Asahi turned it over so he didn't have to look at it, but on the back of the jacket was a terrifyingly large photo of the wild-eyed author, so he set it under the next book on the stack instead. 

That one was called _Help Me! I'm in Love with My Grandfather's Ghost!_ Asahi made a distressed noise in the back of his throat and turned that book over too. 

At that moment, Kuroo came back around the bookcase, his mouth split into a toothy grin. He steepled his hands together. "Sorry about that," he said calmly, meeting Asahi's eyes, "I believe we've been operating under a misapprehension." 

"I think I made a mistake," Asahi mumbled. "I should probably go," He headed for the exit. 

"No!" Kuroo shouted, darting forward to put himself between Asahi and the door. "You'll have to forgive my friend, he's not great with people – but, he's remarkably..." He considered the word carefully. "Astute." 

"Is he?" Asahi said stiffly. He reached around the man in his way, searching for the door handle. 

"Yes!" Kuroo insisted as he side-stepped in front of the handle. He held up his hands, guarding the door like a goalie. "Yes, he is. And I think we can help you." 

Asahi shifted from foot to foot, debating whether or not to force his way past. "I'm not sure anyone can help me," he returned in a small voice. 

Kuroo let out a low whistle. "I see what you mean about cloudy," he said. 

"What?" 

"And brown," the smaller man interjected. His voice was close, though Asahi couldn't find him at first. At length he located the pair of eyes peeking at him from behind a display of pamphlets near the front counter. "Very brown," Kenma added. 

" _What_?" Asahi said again, nervous irritation bleeding sharply into his discomfort. 

"Tell us about the ghost," Kuroo said. "When did you first see it?" 

"I'd like to leave now!" Asahi shouted. 

"At least tell us where you saw it!" 

" _Excuse me_!" Asahi put a hand on Kuroo's arm and pushed him away from the door. He grabbed the handle and opened it. 

"Wait," Kenma said softly, and something in his tone made Asahi pause with the door only just cracked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kenma step halfway out from behind the display. "The ghost is new. The rest of it was already there." 

Asahi's hand tightened against the door handle. He felt the fastenings on it shift under the pressure of his grip. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice low and tight. But Kenma didn't say anything else. 

Asahi looked aside at Kuroo, who made no move to block his way again. "What does he mean?" 

"I don't think I really know," Kuroo admitted. "But you probably do, don't you?" 

Asahi sighed and put his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He exhaled hard through his nose with his eyes closed. "Sorry for the trouble," he mumbled, and he opened the door fully and went out into the sunshine. 

~ 

It was strange, he couldn't help but admit, that it had seemed like morning one moment and afternoon the next, though he couldn't say how the time had passed or what day it was, or if it was even the same day as it had been earlier, when he'd looked down at his feet and saw the surface of the table beneath him instead. 

Now, he couldn't jump to conclusions, he told himself. People lost time. It was a thing that happened! And so it was happening to him. Nothing to worry about. He'd get to the bottom of it. Probably just needed a good meal and some sleep, except that the stranger was in his bed, curled up in a fetal position on top of the covers. 

"Look," he said patiently. "I think that we probably need to talk about this." 

"Can you come back later?" the stranger mumbled. "I'm having an existential crisis right now and I'm a little too busy to deal with this whole haunted apartment thing." His voice sounded miserable and small. 

"You can't have your existential crisis in my apartment. You need to go home." 

The stranger pulled a pillow over his head. "This _is_ home. I _am_ home." 

He rubbed his temples and sat on the edge of the bed. "Look, I don't wanna be a jerk about this. You're obviously going through some issues right now and you've confused yourself into believing that you live here." 

"I _do_ live here." 

"That's just it, though. You can't live here. I live here." 

The stranger's voice was muffled beneath the fabric. "I feel like there are only so many times we can have this conversation." 

"Then let's have it this one last time, for real." 

The stranger was still for a long moment, then he took the pillow off his head and sat up with a sigh. "Okay," he said. 

Up close, the stranger really didn't look very old. At first, he'd thought the man well into his thirties – but now, appraising him with a calm eye in the afternoon light from the window, he could see that the man was probably about his own age. "What did you say your name was?" 

"Azumane." 

"Okay, Azumane, take a look at the other side of that pillow." 

The stranger turned it over in his hands. 

"You see the blue stain?" He pointed. "You know how it got there?" 

The man shook his head. 

"I put it there. I made the mistake of eating popsicles in bed." 

The corner of the man's mouth quirked up. "Sounds like something a kid would do." Azumane sure was cute when he grinned, with prominent dimples showing even under the his scruff on his face. 

He felt himself smile back. "I'm sure lots of grown-ass men would like to eat blue popsicles in their bed." 

"Not many do, though." 

"Clearly they're living unfulfilled lives." 

Azumane smiled again, and he smoothed the pillow down absently. "Probably," he agreed. The smile left him. "Was your life unfulfilled, do you think? Is that why you're still here?" 

The panic that had gripped him in the middle of the kitchen fluttered again beneath his diaphragm, but he squashed it down. "I'm not dead, Azumane," he reiterated. "I think I'd remember something like dying." 

Azumane shook his head. "But you can't remember who you are or how long you've been here. Those are important things. Do you remember your name yet?" He looked up from where he'd been staring at the bedspread. His eyes were the color of dark caramel, framed by long lashes. 

"A little bit of amnesia is not the same thing as being dead," he returned, haltingly. "I probably just hit my head or something." That's how it worked in movies. The rest of it would come back to him. It was definitely his apartment, his stuff. There was no question there. 

"Wait a minute," Azumane said. "I have an idea." He put his long legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. "Please just..." He frowned, gesturing vaguely with his hands. "I don't know, concentrate or whatever. Hold yourself here until I get back." 

"I think I can handle sitting on a bed." 

"Right," Azumane said. "Just. Make sure you do." He walked to the doorway and disappeared into the hall. 

Azumane was gone for perhaps a minute at most, but that minute wobbled around his person like a fog, and he woke up from it staring at a blank space on the wall, an empty hook that must've once held a frame, rent by an inexplicable sensation of _loss_. When Azumane returned holding a packet of papers, he felt weak with relief. 

"Here," Azumane said. He set the papers on the bed and sat down beside him. "This is my rental agreement." 

"You're not gonna convince me it's legit," he said. "Since I own the place and didn't lease it out to anyone." 

"That's not why I'm showing it to you," Azumane said quickly. He flipped through to the last page. "Here," he said again, and he pointed to a signature at the bottom of the agreement. "This is the name of the girl who said she was responsible for the property. Does that look familiar at all? Do you know her?" 

He took in the handwriting, quick but graceful, the characters tight and neat. Something panged inside him as it slotted into place; a door opened inside his mind, and he felt himself exhale heavily. He pointed a trembling finger at the characters in the girl's surname. "That's me," he whispered. "That's my name." 

"What?" Azumane looked back at the paper. "But she was..." 

"Not her first name, obviously. But." He felt his tongue slip inside his mouth, moving in a way that was practiced and familiar. He pointed at the characters again. "Nishinoya," he said stiffly. "Nishinoya," he said again, and it was more fluid the second time. "I'm Nishinoya." He breathed in and exhaled once more, long and shaky. He gripped his shirt. "That's me, that's me." 

"Nishinoya," Azumane echoed quietly. The way the name sounded in his voice – Nishinoya felt the back of his neck prickle. "Well, its nice to meet you, Nishinoya." When he wasn't yelling or gibbering in terror he had such a nice voice, slightly breathy and soft in tone. 

The moment stretched long between them, until Azumane blinked and looked back at the leasing agreement. "So, this girl," he started, "she has the same name as you. A relative? Or your wife?" 

Nishinoya laughed. "Yeah, probably not that." 

"Why's that?" 

"Well." Nishinoya chuckled again and scratched his head. "I've never had much luck in that department, I'm afraid." 

A small smile touched Azumane's lips. "Maybe your sister, then? Or a cousin?" He tapped his knuckles to his mouth. "It would make sense that the property would pass to a relative. But I don't understand why she specified she wasn't the owner..." 

"Because _I'm not dead_ , clearly!" Nishinoya could feel his hackles rising. "You gotta stop talkin' like I am, because it's really starting to freak me out." The calmness of their conversation had evaporated in that instant, and he felt anger start to take hold again. 

"Look," Azumane said. "Let's be rational here." 

Nishinoya snorted loudly. "Rational. _Rational_. Okay, let's be rational. Let's do that." He stood up and did his best to loom over the man sitting on his bed. "The way I see it, there are two possibilities here." 

Azumane seemed to shrink in place. "Two?" His voice had gone small and strange again. 

Nishinoya barreled on. "Yeah. So, either you've experienced some sort of psychological break, and imagined yourself living in someone else's apartment–" 

"But," Azumane cut in meekly. He held up the agreement. 

" _To the point of forgery,_ " Nishinoya snapped. "Either that or let's say, for shits and giggles, I really am haunting the place, well, which of those two possibilities sounds more _rational_ to you, Azumane? Which would you say?" 

"I'm sorry," Azumane said as he stood up off the bed and took a step toward him. "I know it's upsetting and – honestly, it's upsetting to me too – but, I really think we should just–" His hand moved in a seemingly mindless motion, aiming for Nishinoya's shoulder in what was probably intended to be a comforting gesture. But it passed through Nishinoya's frame as though through smoke, halting somewhere below his armpit before either of them realized the mistake. 

"Holy shit," Azumane whispered. 

"How _dare_ you!" Nishinoya bellowed, and Azumane abruptly retracted his hand. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" he blurted. 

Nishinoya could feel the alarm swelling inside him and tried unsuccessfully to contain it. He didn't understand – there had been that bit with the table but – he'd sat on the bed, hadn't he? Had the bed shifted under his weight? He didn't remember. Surely it did! "Don't come near me," he said dangerously, backing up toward the door. 

"Please," Azumane begged, hands up defensively, "please just calm down. You're starting to–" A conflicted look spread across his face. "You look kind of – see-through." 

Nishinoya looked down at his hands and realized he could see all the way to the floor through the pale translucent film of his skin. "No," he said. "No." 

"I think I know some people who can help you," Azumane continued, "if you'd just let me–" 

"No!" Nishinoya shouted, and then a sound like a grinding wail filled his head, agonizingly loud. He grasped both sides of his skull as pain exploded to life between his temples. His vision started to brighten in a white haze. 

"Nishinoya," Azumane said, "what's–" 

"Get out!" he managed to shout one last time, before the pain overtook him, and the bedroom disappeared in a screaming blur of blinding light. 

~ 

Daichi checked his watched for what was probably the hundredth time. It was nearly a quarter til five, and Asahi was a no-show. He frowned and rubbed his temples in frustration. 

"You've got to be patient with him," their manager had said. "Recovery is a painful process, and Azumane has always been somewhat fragile." 

"Kick his ass, and tell him to come back to practice," their coach had said. 

Daichi thought himself a patient person, but in their long aquaintance Azumane Asahi had always tested the boundaries of that equanimity. 

"Daichi!" 

He'd been pulling his cellphone out of his pocket when he heard the voice shouting from the street. He looked up and caught sight of Asahi barreling down the sidewalk toward where Daichi stood near the entrace to the park. 

"It's about time," Daichi said irritably when Asahi reached him. Asahi was flushed and out of breath; he had to put his hands on his knees to steady himself. "Just how out of shape are you?" 

"Daichi!" Asahi gasped, "he's real!" It seemed he'd either chosen to ignore or didn't even notice Daichi's comment. He had a handful of papers in his hand. 

"What's real?" 

"My _ghost_!" Asahi seemed delighted by the prospect. "I mean, he's not really mine I guess. But. He's there! I didn't imagine him!" 

"Asahi..." 

Asahi straightened to his full height as he caught his breath. He continued. "No, really! I went to a shop and they could tell I'd had some kind of encounter. I mean. They were weird. One guy was okay but the other was–" 

Daichi listened to Asahi prattle on with growing concern. He noted that Asahi's hair was even more frazzled than usual, his eyes wild and bright. 

"– and his name is the same as the landlady! Or I mean, the girl who was there, to sign the lease. The one you met. So that can't be a coincidence, don't you think?" He was gesturing at the papers. His leasing agreement, it looked like. 

"Asahi," Daichi said again, more firmly. 

"Anyway, I want you to come by. Maybe I can get him to come out. Maybe you'll be able to see him! I don't know. Two days with a ghost doesn't make you an expert." 

"Asahi!" Daichi shouted this time, and it finally seemed to cut into Asahi's hysteria. He backed up a step and closed his mouth. Daichi sighed and rubbed his forehead with two fingers and a thumb. "Asahi," he said a fourth time, softer, "I'm worried about you." 

The hint of a smile lingering on Asahi's face disappeared. "You don't need to be," he said in a low voice. 

"It's been four months," Daichi continued. 

Asahi's face closed, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. "I know," he said. 

"Coach says you aren't answering his calls. Asahi, you have to start coming back to practice. They won't wait forever," Daichi concluded with a frown. 

"I know that, Daichi," Asahi said. 

"I thought the new place was good for you, a fresh start and everything. But..." 

"This has nothing to do with that," Asahi insisted. 

"I don't know, Asahi," Daichi said. "You won't talk to the guys unless I force you, you won't answer your phone." On impulse he reached forward to grab Asahi's upper arm. "I called your therapist and he said you'd missed the last few sessions." 

"Daichi!" Asahi pulled his arm back quickly. "Why would you do that!" 

"I'm sorry," Daichi said earnestly. "I shouldn't have done it. I know it was a breach of trust. But I was worried, Asahi. I _am_ worried." 

"Why'd he even talk to you!" 

"Because I'm the captain!" Daichi shouted. "And Coach told me the company might fire you outright if you don't make progress toward rejoining the team!" 

Asahi was almost trembling in place, mouth set in a tight line, forehead deeply creased above his darkening eyes. 

Daichi inhaled sharply and then pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out the breath in a long slow exhalation. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry. I really am. But you put me on your list there for a reason, right?" He looked up again. He tried to ignore how close to tears Asahi looked. "You're my best friend, Asahi. It hasn't been the same without you." One corner of his mouth turned up. "There's no one to help me corral the kids around, for one." Daichi reached out his hand again toward Asahi's arm and was relieved when Asahi didn't pull back. "I just want to make sure that you're making progress. Toward... whatever it is that you want." 

Asahi's larynx bobbed in his throat as he swallowed. His voice was thick when he spoke. "You're my best friend, too," he said. "I just need a little time, you know?" 

Daichi nodded. He patted Asahi's bicep. "Don't take too much, okay? And maybe stop playing around with this fantasy you've concocted. It's not really..." He frowned again. "Encouraging." 

"It's not a fantasy. He's really there," Asahi insisted. "And there's something. Strange about it. He seems so confused." He shook his head. "There's a puzzle here, and I wanna put all the pieces together. I wanna help him, Daichi." 

Daichi felt the sigh building up in his chest, rumbling out of his mouth like wind from a bellows. "You need to help yourself, Asahi." 

Asahi's face creased heavily, his eyebrows knitting together in his forehead as the corners of his mouth pulled tight. "You really don't believe me? About the ghost?" he asked in a pitiful voice that grated against Daichi's nerves. 

"I believe that you're trying to avoid your problems," he returned. "I don't know about the rest." 

Asahi looked at the ground. He clasped his hands in front of himself. "I don't know that I feel up to  a run today," he said. 

"We don't have to run," Daichi conceded as he patted Asahi's arm again. "But let's take a walk at least?" Asahi nodded, and Daichi took it as a victory. He switched tactics quickly. "Did I tell you about how the guys tried to dye Kageyama's hair last week?" 

The story had the intended effect. Asahi blinked, mouth forming a perfect little 'o' of surprise before  his eyes crinkled at the corners as his mouth split into a grin. "No! Oh my god." 

"He wasn't there when I caught them, but I swear it was Futakuchi's idea. I don't think the other guys are clever enough for it to have occurred to them spontaneously." 

"Oh my god," Asahi repeated. "What happened?" 

Daichi grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the head of the jogging path. "I swear these kids are gonna make me gray, Asahi," he said. "Kageyama is just lucky I got there when I did..." 

~ 

Nishinoya was nine when he experienced his first real heartbreak – a girl in his class, who he'd had lunch with every day, started having lunch with another boy. A taller boy. A boy from a rich family who didn't constantly get in trouble, who could sit still in class. 

"We can be friends outside of school," she told him, when he asked about it a few days later. "But my mom said you're a distraction in class." 

Nishinoya was sent home that afternoon with a week's suspension, when he punched the other boy in the face. Hideki, the kid was named. He was shy and smart, one of the top students in their grade. Nishinoya had been so riddled with guilt afterward that he chased Hideki down one day after school and cornered the tearful boy in an alleyway. Nishinoya just meant to properly apologize, but that day he realized that he'd merely been one in a long line of tormentors in Hideki's life, and the other boy was depressingly used to the abuse. 

He'd immediately declared himself as Hideki's protector, with plans to make sure no one else bothered the kid for the rest of the year. He'd walk home with a bloody nose and a huge grin, and Hideki would look ashamed and buy him candy from the store next to the train station. They walked together every day for four months, until Hideki's family moved to Tokyo. 

For some reason, Nishinoya had been devastated by the loss, much more than he should've been, considering the short duration of their friendship. He didn't put the pieces together until he was nearly seventeen and realized he had liked Hideki more than he ever liked the girl, whose name he didn't remember. 

In college he'd harbored a crush on his roommate, who was a footballer – for all of a week, before the guy got his girlfriend pregnant and subsequently dumped her. Though he was over twenty centimeters taller than Nishinoya and outweighed him by half, their ensuing fight in the rec center left the other boy needing eight stitches in his face – and nearly got Nishinoya thrown out of the volleyball club, if not for the coach's intervention to the school board. 

Volleyball! He remembered volleyball. He remembered a fractured radius that took him out of the starters for nearly an entire quarter. His grades were never higher than they were during those months. 

Did he still play volleyball? It had been awhile since college. Or he thought it had, at least. 

It felt like his eyes were closed, so he tried opening them. 

He was standing in his living room. The television was off and the place was quiet, so it seemed like Azumane was out. Or maybe he'd finally listened to Nishinoya and had left the apartment for good. The latter thought filled him with such an inexplicable panic that when he heard the front door open, he went to it so quickly that it felt like his feet never touched the floor. 

He immediately instructed himself to forget that sensation. 

Azumane came in, and Nishinoya opened his mouth to say something, but Azumane was already speaking. 

"–I don't know if he's here right now, but maybe you can just get a feel for the place and tell me about it," Azumane said. He stepped into the foyer and two men came in behind him. 

Nishinoya pulled up short in the archway that separated the foyer from the apartment proper. He immediately ducked back around into the dining room again, out of sight from the door. 

"Nice place," said an unfamiliar voice. "Little new for a ghost." 

_That's because I'm not a ghost, buddy,_ Nishinoya thought fiercely. 

"The building has only been occupied a few years," Azumane explained. "So he can't have been around that long." 

"And it claims that all the furnishings and everything..." 

"He says they're his. I don't have any reason to not believe him, really. I mean I think he's related to the person who leased the place to me so..." 

Their voices grew louder as they approached the archway. Nishinoya dodged into the kitchen and ducked behind the counter. 

"He usually makes himself known pretty fast," Azumane said. 

_Because you're always in my stuff,_ Nishinoya thought with a frown. "Maybe he's not here right now." 

"He's here," a third voice mumbled. 

"Is he?" Azumane asked. "Are you sure?" 

There was a beat of silence, then Azumane called out, "Nishinoya!" and Nishinoya put a hand on his chest, curious at the way his heart twanged inside him. 

"There," the quiet voice said. 

Nishinoya heard the footsteps approaching. He abruptly grabbed for the handle of the lower cabinet next to him – he was small enough, he could wedge under the sink – but his hand passed right through it. "Damn it!" he whispered. 

Azumane came around the counter, blinking in surprise at where he crouched on the tile floor. "Nishinoya? What are you doing there?" 

Nishinoya stood up quickly and brushed himself down to cover his embarrassment. "What, I need an excuse to be in my own kitchen?" he asked sharply. 

"Oh, well..." Azumane rubbed his neck. "No, I guess." He looked down at Nishinoya again. "Were you hiding?" 

"No!" Nishinoya lied. He looked over the counter at the two men Azumane had brought with him. One was tall and the other was not. Neither was looking at him. Both had ridiculous hair. The taller man was looking at Azumane, but the shorter was looking somewhere just to the left of Nishinoya's head. He was pointing toward the kitchen where they stood together. "Who are these guys," Nishinoya muttered, at the same time the taller man asked, "Is it there?" 

" _It_?" Nishinoya repeated in distaste. 

"Can't you see him?" Azumane asked. 

"Should I be able to?" the tall man returned. He was holding a black duffel bag. The smaller man didn't speak. He was still looking slightly aside, his gaze strangely focused. 

"He's right here," Azumane insisted, gesturing at Nishinoya beside him. 

The other man looked at the space next to Azumane where he indicated, but his gaze was directed above Nishinoya's head. 

Nishinoya scoffed. _Typical._ "I'm getting kinda sick of this game, you know." 

"These guys can help," Azumane told him. After a beat he hesitantly added, "I think." 

The tall man set his bag on the ground. "I assure you, if the ghost is here, we can help!" he said brightly. He unzipped the bag and started extracting a collection of devices, including a small tapedeck attached to a microphone, what appeared to be some sort of meter, a few empty jars with lids attached, and a few other items Nishinoya was unable to identify. "My colleague and I have been doing this sort of thing for years. We've never had a complaint!" 

"Kuroo." The sound had come from the smaller man. He finally lowered his hand. 

"We've had _very few_ complaints." 

"Kuroo." 

"Okay, we've only had one other legitimate apparition, but the hospitalization of the host wasn't our fault, I swear." 

"What?" Azumane and Nishinoya blurted together, in tandem with the smaller man saying "Kuroo" a third time. 

"What _is_ it, Kenma?" Kuroo demanded. 

"We can't help this one," the other man mumbled. 

A beat of silence stretched out over the scene. After a time, Azumane was the one who broke it. "I'm sorry?" he said. 

"Kenma," Kuroo started slowly, "this is our first job in months." 

"Oh," Azumane said, "I didn't know that this was... a contracted thing." 

Kuroo seemed to choose to ignore him. "Kenma," he said again, "why do you say this one's no good?" 

Kenma didn't say anything at first. He fiddled his fingers together in front of his chest, eyes turned toward the floor. 

Nishinoya crossed his arms and huffed irritably. "A choice pair of individuals, Azumane," he said. 

Kenma's head quirked, ear turning toward the kitchen. 

Nishinoya noticed. "Wait," he said, uncrossing his arms. "Can that one hear me?" 

"What?" Azumane cut in. 

Kenma finally spoke, voice almost too low to hear. "We can't help this one," he repeated, "because he isn't dead."


	3. Chapter 3

"You know," Nishinoya said brightly, "I think I like this guy."

"Wait, what?" Asahi demanded. Of all the responses he'd expected from Kenma, he hadn't expected that one.

"Yes, please, explain," Kuroo added.

Kenma seemed to shrink under the scrutiny. "He's... not dead."

"That's what I've been saying!" Nishinoya insisted.

"Wait, I don't understand." Asahi stepped back around the counter, toward the other men. "He's... a ghost, right? You don't see him?"

"I don't, but–"

"What about the other guy, can he see me?" Nishinoya clamored over the rest of Kuroo's response. "Hey weird kid, can you see me!" He waved his arms above his head dramatically, but Kenma didn't react.

"I think that's a no," Asahi said.

"What's a no?" Kuroo asked.

"I could've sworn he heard me earlier," Nishinoya insisted.

"He's the one who could tell I'd seen you," Asahi said.

"Can someone please explain," Kuroo intoned.

Kenma's voice piped in underneath theirs, soft and unsteady. "It's too much," he mumbled. "This one is much too alive to be dead."

"I _told_ you!" Nishinoya declared, as he aimed a fist at the countertop in what was clearly intended as a gesture of triumph, though his hand passed right through the surface. Undaunted, he kept swinging it in an unbroken arc and looped it above his head again. "I told you I'm not a ghost!" 

"If you're not a ghost, why can't anyone see you?!" Asahi demanded, which made Nishinoya's evident euphoria diminish somewhat.

"Oh, there's definitely a ghost here," Kuroo interjected. "Kenma wouldn't get this excited over someone corporeal."

Asahi put his hands to his head and rubbed his temples in exasperation. "But how can that... I don't understand, how can that be?" He looked across at Nishinoya, who stood in the kitchen with a fist still raised above his head, though his elbow had bent and ruined the triumphant nature of the pose. "I don't understand," Asahi repeated. "How can you be a ghost if you're not dead?"

"He might not be the ghost," was the quiet explanation, and Asahi's head whipped round so quickly that he felt momentarily dizzy. Kenma was looking at him directly for the first time – eyes catching his for only a second before the young man abruptly looked away, but long enough that Asahi knew the next statement was intended for him. "You're the one with the ghost on him," Kenma said. "You need to fix that first."

No one – corporeal or not – spoke for several seconds. Then Nishinoya broke the silence. "What does – what does that mean?"

Asahi didn't acknowledge the question. "I didn't ask you to come here and talk about me," he said sharply.

"Kenma," Kuroo said quietly, in a tone of warning.

"I don't want to help with stuff like that," Kenma said. He started walking in the direction of the door.

"Kenma!" Kuroo jumped in front of him. "Kenma, the other presence is still here, right? You noticed that one right away!"

Kenma paused and stared at the floor. He turned slightly, back toward the kitchen. "He _is_ still here," he admitted. "But..." He shook his head. "There's too much interference." 

"Interference," Nishinoya echoed.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," Asahi said.

"What does he mean – interference?" Nishinoya asked, his voice a bit louder than before. "And what's it mean, you have a ghost on you?"

Asahi didn't respond. Instead, he looked at Kuroo, who still stood between Kenma and the door with his hands on Kenma's shoulders. "If you can't help me, I think you should go."

"Hey!" Nishinoya shouted. "Don't ignore me!"

”Now, don't listen to my partner here," Kuroo said, "We can absolutely help with whatever manifestation has occurred in your apartment."

" _Azumane_!" Nishinoya bellowed. 

"I don't want to talk about me," Asahi reiterated, "I asked you here to talk about the ghost in my goddamn kitchen!" He pointed back toward Nishinoya, who looked furious enough to pop. "I don't have any other ghost that you need to worry about!"

"But that's why your aura is all–" Kenma started to say, until Kuroo grabbed him and covered his mouth with both hands.

"What my partner is trying to say," Kuroo explained hastily, "is that our skills work best when the client himself has minimal..." He winced. "Baggage, so to speak."

"Oh," Nishinoya said darkly. "I get it."

Asahi felt his shoulders tighten into a hard knot of apprehension. "I don't think I need your services after all," he said.

"You're the one who's fucked up, and I'm the one who has to deal with it," Nishinoya elaborated.

"Please leave," Asahi said.

"I assure you," Kuroo said, "we can still–"

"This was a mistake," Asahi interrupted.

"What," Nishinoya cut in, "bringing strangers into my apartment is suddenly a bad idea when the truth about you starts to come out?"

Tension coursed through Asahi's body, tightening the back of his neck, closing his hands into fists. "This was a mistake," he repeated quietly.

"I get it," Nishinoya said. "This was never about me in the first place, was it?"

Asahi looked at the floorboards beneath him, felt the hot shame and anger churn inside him.

"This was always about you. What, did you get dumped or fired or something?"

"Shut up," Asahi said tightly.

Kuroo blinked. His hands were still around Kenma's mouth. "I didn't say anything..."

"Oh, no, I think I know," Nishinoya continued. "I bet, you're just one of those guys who's a perpetual loser, can't hold down a job, can't get a girlfriend, and just sits at home all day thinking about how he's so underappreciated and misunderstood."

"I said _shut up!_ " Asahi shouted. "Get out! I want you to _go_!" He rounded on the kitchen until he could glare at Nishinoya with every ounce of frustration and disappointment that had recently imbued his life.

"Me?" Nishinoya pointed at himself, his eyes flashing ominously. "You want _me_ to go?"

"That's what this whole thing is about!" Asahi gestured broadly at the other men standing awkwardly aside. "That's the only reason I got them to come here in the first place!" He knew he looked ridiculous, yelling at something only he could see, but a sickening darkness had slumbered for too long in his stomach, now pushed to the forefront by the last two days. "To figure out how to get you to leave me alone!"

"Here's an idea," Nishinoya shouted, "get the fuck out of my apartment and get a life!"

Asahi wanted to shout back, but the anger that had clotted up his chest suddenly pressed into his throat, and he felt his words choking behind it. Heat pressed into the backs of his eyeballs; he realized he was close to tears.

In the ringing silence, Kuroo's voice popped in. "Maybe we should, um..."

"Go," Asahi choked after a moment, embarrassed at how thick his voice sounded. "Please go."

"Get the stuff," Kuroo whispered out of the corner of his mouth, and Kenma went for it obediently. Kuroo cleared his throat. "So uh, you have our card. Whenever you like–"

"Just go," Asahi said quickly.

"Running away again?" Nishinoya said.

Asahi closed his eyes. He exhaled hard through his nose. "Leave me alone," he whispered.

"A word to the wise," came the quiet voice from below, not too far from Asahi's feet.

Asahi's eyes snapped open. He cast them down to where Kenma was zipping up the duffel bag.

Kenma continued, addressing the floor. "You shouldn't think you know what someone's been through," he explained. "You shouldn't assume you understand what makes them the way they are."

Asahi felt his breath catch in his chest. He looked back at Nishinoya briefly; Nishinoya was staring back at him, looking wide-eyed and young.

"Please let yourself out," Asahi said tightly, before turning abruptly and running for the door of the balcony.

~

Pain coursed through him, stabbing sharp from his hip to his toes, clotting in his stomach and filling his throat with nausea. He could feel tears on his face and for once he wasn’t ashamed of them – couldn't be ashamed of them, couldn't even pay attention to them with the agony snapping his body together like jagged ice cubes in a shaken glass.

"It's gonna be okay, Asahi," Daichi said, the voice above him and beside him. Someone's hand was in his, fingers small and tight – maybe Hinata's.

"Azumane-san, I'm so sorry – I'm _so sorry_ –"

"Calm down, Kageyama."

Asahi tried to shake his head – he felt a hand against his forehead, brushing back the sweaty locks of his hair. "Not your fault," he hissed between clenched teeth, hoping it was audible enough to Kageyama to hear.

"Get out of the way, the med team is here–"

"Asahi-san, hang in there!"

"He's not dying, Tanaka."

"Brace his leg, hold it there."

"Wait," Asahi tried to say, "wait – the game – did I get the point?"

"It's okay, Azumane," his coach said, "you did fine. You did just fine."

~

Out on the balcony, the early evening air was cool against Asahi's hot face. He leaned against the railing and looked down at the street below. A few people meandered back and forth on the sidewalk, off to the little details of their lives, to their homes and their families perhaps – from their jobs or dinner or whatever they had to fill up their days. All the things that Asahi didn't have. He felt short of breath and overly warm, the heat in his cheeks beating behind his eyes until they stung. The view of the ground below grew blurry.

"Azumane." Nishinoya's voice came from behind him.

Asahi wiped his face on his sleeve before he turned around. "What is it?" he asked. He kept his eyes turned downward at the deck of the balcony. Near the railing he noticed a potted plant long dead, its leaves brown and wilted beyond recognition. Nishinoya's sneakered feet didn't tell Asahi much of anything. Above his socks, he had skinny calves and sharp knees. Asahi saw Nishinoya cross his arms in his periphreal vision.

"It occurs to me now that I probably don't know you very well," Nishinoya admitted. The tone of his voice had softened to the point that it sounded very near to an apology.

Asahi let out a huff of air that was almost a laugh. "Well, it's okay," he said, "you don't seem to know yourself very well right now either."

Nishinoya made a ' _pfft_ ' sort of sound. "Well, that's true," he agreed. His voice was light, which made Asahi brave enough to lift his gaze to meet Nishinoya's. The other man was grinning a little bit, the corner of his mouth teasing upward, lifting his cheek until it made the eye above it crinkle.

Asahi felt his shoulders lower slightly as the apprehension in them loosened.

"So what was that about?" Nishinoya asked.

His shoulders tightened back up again. "Nothing," he said quickly.

"You know, you're not very good at lying."

Asahi looked back down. "I know," he said.

"So, what's the story, Azumane?" Asahi lifted his eyes again and found that intense gaze focused on him once more. Nishinoya uncrossed his arms. "You mentioned a crisis. Hell, the first night you were here, you were drunk."

"Maybe I just like to get drunk," Asahi said.

"Appearances aside, you don't seem the type," Nishinoya returned. "I mean, you're obviously–" He threw a hand in Asahi's general direction. "You're obviously just... just... just blah," he concluded, looking frustrated.

"Just blah," Asahi echoed. He let it sit for a moment. "It's accurate."

"So what's the deal, man? Because that weird kid was right. Something's hangin' on you." Nishinoya examined him up and down with a clinical eye. "And it's not my ghost here."

Asahi's shoulders turned inward. Nishinoya was between him and the door leading back into the apartment. He knew he'd pass through Nishinoya's form without resistance if he tried to run for it, yet the shape of him in front of Asahi still seemed like an impossible barrier. He leaned back against the railing and rested his hands on it instead. "It's not a complicated story," he said slowly. "I just, I got hurt, that's all."

"Hurt," Nishinoya said. "What does that mean, hurt?"

"What do you mean 'what does that mean'?" Asahi returned sharply. He crossed his arms and looked over the side of the balcony, at the one belonging to the next apartment over. They had leafy ferns in a long planter and a folding deck chair.

"I'm not trying to be difficult here, Azumane. _Hurt_ could mean a lot of things."

Asahi closed his eyes and exhaled hard through his nostrils. When he opened them again, Nishinoya was still in front of him, staring at him intently. Asahi felt his stomach turn over, and then his mouth moved by itself. "I'm kind of... an athlete? Or, I guess I _was_." Nishinoya nodded, so Asahi continued. "And about four months ago. There was a match, and I got hurt." He shrugged his shoulders, at a loss for what else to do. "That's all, really."

"That's all?" Nishinoya repeated. "You got hurt so you just up and quit?"

"It's – not that simple," Asahi mumbled.

"Then tell me, Azumane," Nishinoya insisted. "And no bullshit dodging. Just tell me flat out what happened."

"It's stupid," Asahi whispered. " _I'm_ stupid for letting it get like this."

"Now, how can I know that if you won't tell me," Nishinoya told him, and Asahi felt a little grin waver over his lips.

He started slow. "It was my fault," he said, "I wasn't paying attention to how I was placing my feet."

"It was your leg?"

Asahi nodded and uncrossed his arms. He leaned back against the railing again. "I know my setter blames himself for it – the toss was off and the other guy missed and I tried to..." He sighed, the sound distressingly high-pitched. His hands tightened involuntarily on the railing behind him. "And I knew as soon as it happened that I'd been stupid, that I'd jumped wrong, that I'd landed wrong. I..." He grimaced at the memory. "It made such a _sound._ I'll never forget it. I heard the sound before I felt the pain."

Nishinoya's voice was soft. "You tore your ACL?"

"Yeah." Asahi looked over his shoulder at the road below. The light was turning long as evening came on, the people on the street thinning out. "Complete tear, damaged meniscus, sprained my MCL, all that."

"And the prognosis was bad?" Nishinoya asked. "Did you have surgery?"

Asahi blinked and looked back at Nishinoya in surprise. "Yeah," he said haltingly, "I had the surgery. They took a graft from my lower leg for it."

"And it was unsuccessful? The graft failed, or you lost mobility, or..." Nishinoya gestured with one hand turned upward in front of him, inviting Asahi to complete the sentence.

"No," Asahi said, "it went fine. Took awhile to heal, I guess."

"But your rehab hasn't been going well? Leg is still unstable?" He sounded genuinely baffled.

Asahi frowned and looked away again. "No, it's been fine," he mumbled. "I've got full mobility back, it's just strength training right now." He shrugged helplessly. "They want me to start going to practice again, get back into the flow of it so I can rejoin the team in another month or two." His heart felt like it was being squeezed inside his chest as he spoke, like a fist had closed over the pumping organ and was slowly choking him to death.

Nishinoya was quiet for a moment. "I don't understand what the problem is," he said finally. "That sounds like a pretty standard recovery."

Asahi shrugged again. His throat felt tight. "I said it was stupid," he mumbled.

Out of the corner of his eye Asahi saw Nishinoya shift in place. He made a thoughtful sound in his throat. "You don't want to go back to the team," he said in sudden understanding.

"I don't know what I want," Asahi said.

"Are you scared? That you might get hurt again?"

"Maybe a little," Asahi admitted. "But not really."

"Then what?" Nishinoya demanded, voice rising slightly. "Help me understand, Azumane!"

Asahi swallowed hard. He looked down at the concrete surface of the deck. He felt the words bubble up out of him like tears. He realized actual tears were coming up close behind. "I know the setter blames himself – the other guy too, the one who missed. But really... but really..." His voice wavered and humiliation flooded his stomach. "I was the one who made a bad judgment. I didn't even save the ball. And my team lost the game after I was taken out." Asahi's shoulders hunched, his spine curving as he curled on himself.

"You feel like you let them down," Nishinoya said.

"Didn't I? I made a stupid call – I should have known better – and they all suffered for it. We dropped in the standings and they didn't make it to the play-offs."

"I'm sure they don't blame you, Azumane."

"They should," Asahi said darkly. He swiped at his face angrily with the heels of his hands, embarrassed at the display of emotion, even though Nishinoya didn't seem to care.

"Don't be stupid," Nishinoya returned. "You were trying to do everything you could for them. Accidents happen sometimes, that’s how sports go." His voice was low and gentle, much different than Asahi had ever heard it. "It's useless to try to figure out who deserves the blame. I'm sure they're all waiting for you to come back."

"That's easy for you to say," Asahi mumbled. He leaned back against the railing once more. "I don't know if I have it in me to go back."

Nishinoya frowned heavily and crossed his arms again. "Does it still hurt you?"

"What?"

"Your knee, does it still hurt."

Asahi shook his head and shrugged. "Sometimes it aches a little. But not really. It feels..." He rubbed his neck as he tried to explain the sensation. "Most of the time, I think it feels like it's all healed. I don't notice a difference from the left one. But then I start thinking about it and..."

"And you imagine it hurting," Nishinoya finished, and Asahi blinked again.

"Yeah..." he agreed. "Or I think about it too much and I sort of forget how it was supposed to feel in the first place – like..." He huffed out a quick laugh and rolled his eyes at his own ridiculousness. "Is this how a normal person walks? Is this what a knee is supposed to feel like? And then I just don't know anymore."

Nishinoya stared at him a moment, then his face split into a grin. "You're a weird dude, Azumane."

Asahi crossed an arm in front of himself to grab his elbow and allowed himself a small smile in return. "You're probably right," he said. After a moment, he added, "Asahi."

"What's that?"

"Asahi, you can call me Asahi."

For the span of a heartbeat, Nishinoya didn't say anything. Then he tipped his chin up, and his grin widened. "Asahi then."

Asahi felt his stomach flip over. He tucked his chin down and smiled bashfully.

The grin left Nishinoya's face. "Unfortunately all I have right now is 'Nishinoya'," he said.

"You don't remember anything else?" Asahi asked.

Nishinoya shook his head. "No. This really sucks. I feel like I _should_ remember something but..." He paused briefly. "I don't really remember much of anything before I found you in the living room the other night. And it's been..." He grimaced. "...kinda spotty since then."

"That was just last night," Asahi offered.

"Well, that's a relief," Nishinoya intoned. "At least I didn't lose as much time as I thought."

"Why do you think you're still here?"

"Wow. Scary question." Nishinoya scratched his head. His hair, now that Asahi had a good look at it, was thick and full, slightly longer on top and cropped close on the sides. It stuck up under its own power and curled a little in the back, near the crown of his skull. He'd bleached a streak into it, swooping back from his forehead toward the long ends. Nishinoya sighed out loud, and Asahi pinked as he realized he was staring.

"I have no idea really," Nishinoya said. Suddenly it was his turn to look bashful. His eyes turned aside, and he blushed slightly. It was odd, Asahi thought, seeing a ghost blush. "To be honest, when you're not here... it's almost like I don't exist," Nishinoya admitted quietly. "Why're you the only one who can see me?"

"I don't know," Asahi admitted. "I've never seen a ghost before now."

"Well, I've never been a ghost before now," Nishinoya said.

Asahi couldn't really argue with that logic.

Nishinoya moaned in sudden distress. "Oh man... what if I really am dead?"

"I hope not," Asahi told him.

Nishinoya buried his fingers into his hair and tugged. "If I could only remember _something_!"

"We know you lived here," Asahi reminded him, "and your name. Maybe the girl who signed the agreement is a relative. We could start there."

"....maybe," Nishinoya agreed haltingly. He slipped his hands down out of his hair and covered his mouth with his hand in a pensive gesture, his thumb tucked behind his chin. "Maybe," he repeated at length. "What did she look like?"

Asahi looked up at the sleek exterior of the apartment building and pinched his mouth together. "Maybe a little like you?" He shook his head. "I didn't really... look at her," he admitted. "But she was..." He debated completing the sentence.

"Loud?" Nishinoya offered with a grin.

"No," Asahi laughed. "No." He looked down at the deck of the balcony again, then flicked his eyes back to Nishinoya. "Short," he clarified apologetically.

"Oh," Nishinoya said. He snorted. "Well, I can't really argue with that one. I'm sure if the muscles in my neck were real I'd've gotten a crick in them from looking at you."

Asahi hunched a little more. "Sorry," he said.

Nishinoya shrugged. "It's not like I haven't had years to get used to being short, Asahi." He tipped his chin up and waved his hand in Asahi's direction. "You could act a little taller, you know."

"I don't know what that means, 'act taller'. I'm already tall."

"Anyway," Nishinoya continued, ignoring him, "if she's a relative, I guess we can..." He paused. "Wait. You... said 'we', didn't you?"

"Well, I'm gonna help, aren't I?" Asahi said. He worried his teeth against his lip. "Is that okay?" It suddenly occurred to him that Nishinoya might not want his assistance.

Nishinoya blinked and looked down, appearing for the first time in the conversation like he was unsure how to proceed. "Yeah, that's..." He sniffed loudly and cleared his throat. "Well, that's good. I wasn't sure how I was gonna do it on my own, if no one can see me."

"Of course I'll help," Asahi assured him. "I'm happy to help." He clenched his hand into a fist, abruptly realizing he wanted to pat Nishinoya on the shoulder.

Nishinoya didn't seem to notice. "That's..." he started haltingly. "Thanks." He scratched behind his ear. "I guess we can also see if that wonder duo of yours can tell us anything."

"Okay," Asahi returned. He added nervously, "what was all that _stuff_ he had in the bag?"

Nishinoya started laughing. It was a boisterous sound that loosened the remaining tension in Asahi's shoulders. He grinned back. "God, I'm really curious now!" Nishinoya said. "What _was_ all that stuff?"

"I don't know if I even want to know."

"That's a terrible philosophy. How will you ever know anything?"

Asahi found himself laughing too. "I don't know. Maybe I _don't_ know anything."

"Well, you _are_ the guy who is talking to a ghost on your own balcony. Shit. _My_ own balcony." Nishinoya looked comically horrified. "Jeez, this is getting complicated." 

"Let's just compromise for now," Asahi suggested. "We can call it ours."

"That's so cheesy!" Nishinoya laughed. "Like we're married or something!"

"N-no." Asahi felt heat rise into his face. "Not like that, I mean – just–"

"I know what you mean," Nishinoya reassured him. He was still grinning and appeared to be entirely unruffled, so Asahi's sudden apprehension settled a little.

"So how do we start this?" Asahi asked quietly.

Nishinoya scratched his head again. "Do you have a contact for that girl? Phone or email or something?"

"Maybe we can check the leasing agreement. She didn't give me anything apart from that."

"Hmm. Well, it's worth a shot, I suppose." Nishinoya thought for another moment. He looked up suddenly. "Is it volleyball?"

"What?"

"Volleyball," Nishinoya repeated with an encouraging gesture. "You play volleyball? You mentioned a setter."

"Oh, yeah." Asahi ducked his head and rubbed his neck again. "Sorry, I should've been more clear."

"No, that's fine. I played a little, you know."

Asahi blinked "Volleyball?"

Nishinoya put his hands on his hips. "What, is that so surprising?"

"Well..." Asahi felt a smile tease at his lips despite himself. "Maybe a little..."

"Well, I did!" Nishinoya insisted. "In high school, I think, and college too maybe. It's all fuzzy still." He wiggled his fingers vaguely next to his temple. "But I think I remember volleyball." He paused. "I wonder if we ever played against each other."

"Where did you go to school?"

"Eh..." Nishinoya chuckled awkwardly. "Can't answer that one."

"Oh... yeah." Asahi scratched his arm. "Maybe, though." He thought about it briefly. "But I feel like I would've remembered you."

Nishinoya laughed. "Maybe! Maybe not."

"No," Asahi said quietly. "I would've remembered you."

Nishinoya looked surprised for a moment at his insistence, then a pleased sort of little smile spread across his face. "Maybe," he said again. His smile dropped. "Listen, Azu– Asahi. I'm." He grimaced. "Sorry about that. Earlier. I didn't mean it. Well, I did mean it, sort of, but – I didn't really think about what I was saying. I don't know you, and it's not fair that I–"

"Nishinoya," Asahi cut in, and to his immense relief, Nishinoya stopped talking. Asahi sighed. "It's okay. I'm sorry too. I want to help you figure this out."

Nishinoya grinned. His ears were pink at the tips, the only evidence of his embarrassment. "Okay," he agreed. "Let's get started."

~

The lease turned out to be a false lead. The girl – Nishinoya Suzume – had signed and dated it, but there was no other information of any use. The contact number went to the front desk, and there was another number for maintenance. That was it.

"That's kinda useless," Asahi muttered. He flipped through the pages again. "What if something were to go wrong? What if I had a break-in or something."

"A break-in?" Nishinoya couldn't help but laugh as he peered around Asahi's arm at the agreement. "What kinda neighborhood do you think you moved into?"

"All the same," Asahi insisted. "I guess I'm just. Supposed to leave a message with the front desk? And they'd contact her for me?" Nishinoya could see the uncertainty painting his features; Asahi had a very expressive face, his eyebrows turned up toward the center of his forehead, mouth curved in a tight frown. "Maybe I could pretend the sink is clogged..."

"We could just go ask, couldn't we?" Nishinoya suggested, and Asahi looked at him in surprise. "At the front I mean," Nishinoya added. "If they have a contact for the girl." Asahi continued to blink in mild shock. It looked as though he'd never considered the possibility.

"And neighbors!" Nishinoya shouted abruptly, which made Asahi jump.

"N-neighbors?"

"Yeah! We got neighbors, don't we?" Nishinoya hit his fist into his palm. "Surely someone in this building remembers me!"

"That's true!" Asahi agreed. "I mean, you can't have lived here too long ago right? The building isn't that old. Maybe your old neighbors are still around!" His face lit with sudden optimism. It was a good look for him. "I'm _sure_ we're gonna find someone who knows who you are." 

"Hell yeah!" Nishinoya attempted to smack Asahi on the arm victoriously, but his hand passed smoothly through the muscle and bone. Asahi hunched awkwardly after the failed endeavor, looking apprehensive. Nishinoya stared at his palm and wiggled his fingers. "Y'know," he said, "that's really kind of annoying." He grabbed his hand with the other one, rubbed his palm with his thumb and manually examined each finger, base to tip. "I feel solid enough, but I can't seem to touch anything..."

"Do you feel anything?" Asahi asked carefully.

"I don't know," Nishinoya admitted. He reached forward again and attempted to touch Asahi's arm once more, slowly this time. His hand passed into Asahi's bicep as though it were no more than a projection. He felt no resistance at all. "Maybe?" There was a sensation, almost like putting his hand under a warm tap, but muted and slight – it was possible he imagined it. Nishinoya pushed his hand deeper, halfway up his forearm, until it passed through Asahi's arm and into his body. He wiggled his fingers.

"Um..." Asahi said softly, "could you stop that?"

Nishinoya blinked and felt himself color slightly when he realized what he was doing. He retracted his hand quickly, and Asahi exhaled. "Did you feel that?" Nishinoya asked cautiously.

"I... don't know." Asahi looked away. He was blushing so hard he was practically glowing. "It was unsettling."

"Oh." Nishinoya bit his lip. He flexed his hand unconsciously, then took a step back. He closed his hand into a fist and rubbed his thumb over his knuckles. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Asahi shook his head in response. He rubbed his neck, an already familiar gesture. "So..." he started slowly. He cleared his throat. "Guy at the front desk probably went home already. Do you wanna see if the neighbors are in?"

Nishinoya tried to barrel past the awkward moment. "It's worth a shot!" he declared.

Asahi turned toward him with a little smile. "Okay," he said.

Nishinoya told himself he imagined the way his heart seemed to speed up. Just his imagination. A quirk of his incoporeal form. "Let's go," he said.

There were three other apartments along their hallway, one adjacent and two across the hall. When Asahi knocked on the door of the apartment next door, they got no answer in return. That left the two on the opposing side.

Nishinoya couldn't help but fidget as Asahi knocked on the door of the next one. "Would you stop?" Asahi whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "You're making me nervous."

" _You're_ nervous? How do you think I feel? What if all they have to say about me is I played my music too loud?"

"Somehow I wouldn't be surprised," Asahi said softly.

"You–!" Nishinoya protested, cutting off abruptly as the door began to open. He almost missed how Asahi hid his smile behind his hand.

That smile completely dropped from his face when their neighbor made his appearance. He was massive – even taller and broader than Asahi, with a much less welcoming face. Nishinoya realized, with a mix of alarm and impish delight, that he had no eyebrows.

The look the man fixed upon Asahi was harsh enough to tan leather. Asahi quailed slightly on the spot, and Nishinoya saw his mouth work a few times before words started coming out.

"E-excuse me," Asahi began, his voice almost too soft to hear. "S-sorry to disturb you."

"C'mon, Asahi!" Nishinoya asserted, "speak up!"

Asahi cleared his throat and swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Excuse me," he said again, somewhat louder. "I just moved in across the hall and–" He gestured over his shoulder, back toward their apartment. "M-my name's Azumane, and I just – I wondered if – if you knew the previous tenant?"

In response, their neighbor continued to stare at Asahi without blinking. The silence stretched out between them, and Asahi's hands began to shake at his sides. Finally the man's gaze slid sidelong, toward their door across the hallway.

"D-do you remember him?" Asahi asked. His voice had gone all small and wobbly again, and Nishinoya groaned out loud.

The man looked back at Asahi. He made a non-verbal noise, low in tone and gruff-sounding. Then he closed the door on them.

"...Well!" Nishinoya said at length, when the shock of the moment had passed. "That was kinda rude! I'm not even sure if that was a yes or a no."

Asahi leaned against the wall of the hallway, clutching his chest. "I think," he wheezed, "I think we just almost died."

"Knock again, Asahi, and ask him seriously this time, so he gives us a proper answer."

"Not a chance."

"Aw, c'mon! He wasn't _that_ scary!"

"Not happening," Asahi asserted. "Let's check next door."

The last door in their hallway bore an odd nameplate. It wasn't Japanese; instead, the letters were some form of Cyrillic script – Russian, maybe? Nishinoya wasn't sure. He blinked in surprise. Had he lived this whole time next to a Russian mobster?

Asahi wiped the sweat off his forehead using his sleeve before he knocked on the door. Nishinoya briefly considered edging in front him – despite Asahi's rough appearance, his cottony personality wouldn't match well versus the Bratva – before he realized, once again, that he couldn't touch anything, that no one could see him.

He made a frustrated sound, which made Asahi look at him curiously. But the door opened then, and Asahi looked away again.

On the other side of the door was a person who looked decidedly unlike a Mafioso. He was a young man, nearly as short as Nishinoya, with blonde hair and an open face. "May I help you?" he asked.

Asahi looked visibly relieved. Nishinoya could practically hear his brain screaming _thank god!_

"Hello," Asahi said, "My name's Azumane, I just moved in down the hall." 

"Oh, I see," the man said. "I thought I saw boxes in the hall the other day." He nodded. "Well, nice to meet you, I'm Yaku. My roommate's not home at the moment, otherwise I'd introduce you to him too."

"Nice to meet you," Asahi echoed.

Yaku opened the door a little wider. "Would you like to come in? I was about to make some tea."

"Ah, th-that's alright," Asahi started, but Nishinoya cut over him with "Go inside! Maybe he knows me!"

Asahi redirected. "I mean, thank you, that would be nice."

Yaku's apartment seemed to be a mirrored copy of Nishinoya's. It had the same foyer, the same dining room, the same kitchen, though his furniture was a little more upscale than Nishinoya's, the decor overall more homey and cohesive. There were actual curtains in the windows, for one.

Instead of a larger table in the dining room, there was a small round one in the kitchen. Yaku gestured for Asahi to sit down while he filled the electric kettle.

Asahi sat and awkwardly folded his hands on the table. He looked almost as relaxed as someone preparing to jump out of a plane.

Nishinoya edged in next to him. "Calm down, act more natural." he suggested. "This isn't a bank heist."

Asahi nodded. His shoulders lowered minutely, which Nishinoya accepted as a small victory. When he asked Yaku, "So how long have you lived in the building?", his voice was only slightly higher-pitched than usual. So far so good.

"A little over a year," Yaku said. He bustled around the kitchen gracefully, measuring tea for the pot, laying out teacups – one in front of Asahi, one across from him, presumably for Yaku himself, and then a third beside them, nearly directly in front of Nishinoya.

Nishinoya blinked at that and jumped. "Can you see me?" he blurted loudly, at the same moment Asahi asked, "Are you expecting more company?"

Yaku looked back at him curiously from where he was pulling a tin of cookies out of the cabinet. "My roommate," he reminded. "He should be home soon."

"Oh," Asahi returned. He glanced at Nishinoya sidelong. His expression was almost apologetic, and Nishinoya had to look away quickly, his stomach churning beneath his diaphragm in disappointment.

"So, a year." Asahi absently turned the empty cup on the table in front of him. It had a delicate floral design. "You must've known the guy who lived there before me."

Yaku paused. His back was still toward the table. He had a jar of honey in his hand, and it took him a moment before he lowered it onto the counter. When he turned around, his face held a neutral expression. "Not well," he said.

"But you knew him?" Asahi prompted.

Nishinoya felt electrified. "He knew me!" he insisted, leaning over the table as he pointed in Yaku's direction. "He had to! Look at his face!"

Asahi, rather wisely, acted as though Nishinoya was not there. "I'm just trying to figure out a little about him," he said.

Yaku's eyebrows came down over his eyes pensively. "Like I said, not well." He frowned. "It's been a few months since he was here."

"Months!" Nishinoya repeated in delight. "I knew it hadn't been that long!"

"You don't know what happened to him?"

Yaku shook his head. "I don't think it was good. I remember the family came around and took some things out of the apartment." He looked at Asahi cautiously. "Why do you want to know?"

Asahi opened his mouth to reply. Before he was able to, two things happened in rapid succession. First, the kettle reached a boil. Immediately after that, the front door flew open with a bang, so loudly and forcefully that all the dishes in the kitchen rattled. Asahi jumped with a yelp, but Yaku only sighed.

"MORI-SAN!" a new voice bellowed, "I'M HOME!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to kmoche and mysecretfanmoments for helping me edit this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

"MORI-SAN! I'M HOME!"

There was a clatter of sounds near the door – presumably belonging to the individual who now shouted at the top of his lungs the details of his day. “–AND THEN FOR LUNCH I TRIED THAT NEW PLACE BY THE HOSPITAL – IT WAS GOOD, YOU SHOULD COME NEXT TIME I–”

“ _LEV_!” Yaku bellowed, his voice surprisingly loud for belonging to such a small frame, “Lev, would you shut up?! We have company!”

“COMPA – company. Company.” His voice dropped many several decibels. “I'm sorry, Mori-san.” He finally came through the archway of the foyer into the dining room, and Asahi got the first good look at him.

He was incredibly tall – taller even then their other neighbor had been – but lanky as a spider monkey and almost as awkward, fair-haired and green-eyed. He wore dark slacks and an unbuttoned white shirt over a t-shirt the same color. A loose red tie was shoved into his shirt pocket with the tail dangling out.

“Lev, this is our new neighbor, Azumane,” Yaku said patiently. “Introduce yourself.” 

The young man inhaled sharply and drew himself up to his impressive full height. He bowed low with his hands glued to his sides, nearly passing the horizontal. “Hello! Nice to meet you! My name is Haiba Lev!”

Asahi's mouth dropped open. He turned his head slightly, letting his eyes pass from Lev to Yaku and finally to Nishinoya, who had covered his mouth with both hands in a failed attempt to keep from laughing. Air escaped between his fingers with a sound like a high-pressure valve.

“It's... it's... it's nice to meet you,” Asahi managed finally.

Lev popped back up quickly, and his attention bounced off Asahi like a stone off a still pond and landed squarely back on Yaku. “Mori-san! You'll never guess what happened today!”

“What's that, Lev?” 

“I got to feed a bird! It was right there on the railing next to the bike rack, and I was eating a sweet bun and I was like – hey bird!”

“Lev,” Yaku said in mild exasperation, though he was smiling. He poured water from the kettle into the teapot on the table.

“Hey bird, you want a bite? And of course it couldn't say yes but it _did_! It did want a bite!”

“That's great,” Yaku concluded. He pulled out the chair in front of the extra teacup. Nishinoya tried to dodge at the last minute, but wasn't able to avoid how Lev barreled right through him as he went for the chair.

Lev stopped. He hugged his arms and shivered so intensely that he vibrated head to foot. “Woah! Did you feel that?” he asked.

“What?”

“It got all cold for a second there.” 

“Maybe there's a draft?” Yaku looked up at vents in the ceiling as Asahi looked briefly aside at Nishinoya in alarm.

Lev blinked for a moment, processing the possibility. Then he noticed the tin of cookies on the counter. “Mori-san! Those are my favorite!”

“I know that, dummy, why do you think I bought them?”

The conversation continued on between the two, and it seemed to Asahi that he had been momentarily forgotten. He hid his mouth behind his hand and whispered, “Are you sure you don't remember these two?” 

“Believe me,” Nishinoya responded behind him in a normal tone, “this is as entertaining to me as it is to you.” 

“ _Entertaining_ is not the word I'd choose,” Asahi hissed. He hid the tail end of the sentence in a cough when he noticed that Yaku had looked back toward him.

“Well!” Yaku said. “Sorry about that!” 

“It's... it's fine,” Asahi said awkwardly.

“Tea?”

Asahi nodded and pushed forward his cup. As Yaku filled it, Asahi felt the hair prickle on his neck and realized that the apartment's other resident had sat next to him, and was now staring at him with unbridled interest.

“Wow!” Lev said finally. “You look like a hooligan!”

“Lev!” Yaku blurted in a horrified tone, but Asahi only laughed nervously and leaned back in his seat.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Lev said. He sat back, looking as though it hadn't occurred to him that it might not exactly be a compliment.

“Don't worry about it,” Asahi assured him with a smile. “I do, a little bit.” He rubbed the underside of his chin with the back of his knuckle. “I guess I haven't been taking very good care of myself lately...”

“Mori-san is the best for that!” Lev declared. “He always makes sure I'm doing what I need to do.” 

“Lev, I'm sure Azumane-san doesn't want me packing lunches for him,” Yaku insisted. He rested his hand on Lev's shoulder as he leaned over the table. When he straightened again, Asahi noticed the way his fingers trailed up the sharp ridge of muscle, the way they brushed against the back of Lev's neck as Yaku passed behind him.

Asahi choked on his tea, and both sets of eyes turned on him.

“Is it too strong?”

“Ah, no!” Asahi said quickly to cover his embarrassment. “I just drank too fast.” He coughed and cleared his throat. “I, uh, I just remembered, I had plans for dinner, I should probably get going!”

“What plans?” Nishinoya's voice wafted from behind. Asahi realized that he'd somehow forgotten all about him. “You don't have any plans.”

Asahi stood up. “Well,” he said, “it was very nice to meet you. Both of you, and if, you know, you need anything, just come say hello.”

“Isn't that my line?” Yaku said.

“Asahi, wait,” Nishinoya said, at the same time that Yaku continued with, “well, if you're certain...”

“Yes, sorry to bother you,” Asahi insisted. “Thank you for the tea and the, um. Well, thank you.” He backed up and nearly ran into the fridge before turning into the dining room and heading for the foyer. 

Yaku followed. Asahi heard the groan of the chair across the floor as Lev stood up too.

“What's your problem?” Nishinoya demanded close to his side. Asahi chose to ignore him. At the door he stopped and had the sense of mind to let Yaku open it for him.

“Sorry for intruding,” Asahi said. “And sorry I can't... stay...” His cheeks were unbearably hot. He was mortified at his abrupt reaction and could feel the emotion choking up his insides.

“That's alright,” Yaku assured him. “You can come back another time.” He frowned in concern, eyebrows dropping low. “I'm sorry I couldn't tell you more about the old neighbor.” 

Asahi shook his head. The shame pounded behind his eyeballs. He couldn't figure out how to salvage the situation. “M-maybe you'll think of something later,” he said quietly.

Yaku nodded. “I'll let you know if I do.”

“Thanks.” Asahi bit his lip in the awkward silence that followed. “Um. Nice to meet you.” He nodded his head and walked quickly out into the hallway without raising his eyes from the floor.

The door clicked shut. Asahi heard the garbled sound of Lev's loud voice, then a softer tone in response, then silence.

He stared at the door and the odd nameplate, and wondered what had happened in his brain to make him react in such a way.

“What the hell, man?” Nishinoya shouted, and Asahi jumped. “What's your problem?!”

“I'm sorry,” Asahi said instinctively. “I just felt. I felt.” He couldn't explain it. The panicked feeling that had seized inside his ribcage. The sense that he was intruding into something intimate. “I'm sorry,” he said again weakly, feeling fully at a loss.

Nishinoya's mouth pinched shut. He exhaled hard and put his hands on his hips. “Well,” he said finally, “what's your plan now?”

“I don't know,” Asahi admitted.

Nishinoya glared at him for a few more moments. “Back to the apartment?” he suggested.

“Okay.”

It wasn't until they stepped back through the threshold, until the door was latched behind them and the bolt slid into place, that Asahi's embarrassment began to ease. When he turned around in the foyer, and remembered how domestic and homey Yaku and Lev's copy of it had looked next door, the shame of his reaction became muted with a twinge of sadness that he didn't quite understand.

“What do we do now?” Nishinoya said beside him. 

Asahi shook his head. “I'm not sure...” he sighed. He felt weird and deflated, the optimism of his earlier mood shaken by the lack of success in their preliminary investigation. “I guess I thought you would've known the neighbors better.”

“...Oh.” Nishinoya's voice grew oddly small. Asahi glanced at him. He stared straight ahead, gears visibly turning in his head. “Maybe... maybe it is weird that I don't really know them,” he admitted. He frowned. “Do you think that I... wasn't friendly or something?”

“I'm sure that's not it,” Asahi insisted quickly. He was unnerved by the discouraged expression on Nishinoya's face.

Nishinoya didn't respond. He walked further into the apartment. Asahi stood in place and watched him move. From the back, Nishinoya appeared even younger than he did face-to-face. His neck was thin and long, his shoulders narrow. He wore the same pair of black shorts and the same red sweatshirt that he had since he first appeared. As weird as it seemed that he still wore his sneakers inside, his feet made no sound on the hardwood floor, and Asahi knew they didn't really touch anything. He stood between Asahi and the window. It was already dark outside, but Asahi wasn't sure he'd cast a shadow even if it were light.

Asahi couldn't help but wonder what it felt like, existing like that, seeing everything as it was, touching nothing. The curiosity stuck in his stomach, swimming uncomfortably like nausea.

Nishinoya squared his feet, legs splayed wide. He put his hands on his hips again. “No sense in getting upset about it!” he declared. His voice had already shed the lost quality it briefly held.

“No?” Asahi said.

Nishinoya turned at the waist so he could throw Asahi a grin over his shoulder. “If I let myself get frustrated now then I'll never get any answers at all,” he said. “Right?”

The vise in Asahi's chest loosened slightly. “That's true,” he agreed.

“Besides,” Nishinoya continued, “it's only the first day. Hell, it's only our first try!” He put his fist into his palm. “We haven't even tried searching the apartment yet! There are probably all sorts of clues in here!”

The despondency lifted. “You're right,” Asahi said. “You're right! There's still lots of things to try.”

“Right?!”

Asahi felt the little bubble of hopefulness start to come back. “Where should we look?” 

“Hell, I dunno,” Nishinoya returned. “Who knows what's been taken out and what's been left.”

“There's lots left in the kitchen,” Asahi suggested. “Dishes and food and things.”

“Food?”

“Non-perishables,” Asahi clarified. “In the pantry.”

“Hmm...” Nishinoya turned back toward the far wall. He scratched his head. “Maybe there's receipts or something around? I feel like you see that sometimes, people hoarding all the little paper things.”

“Yeah,” Asahi agreed. “I do that.” He still had the receipt from the take-out the night before shoved into his wallet.

“To the kitchen!” Nishinoya declared, pointing dramatically.

They checked every drawer and cabinet (or rather, Nishinoya dictated which to open, and Asahi obediently obliged) but there were no receipts, no papers, no scribbles of any kind. Next to the phone there was a little notepad affixed to the wall, but it was empty.

“Maybe you're just really good at remembering things,” Asahi suggested. Nishinoya snorted in return.

“Somehow I don't think that's the case,” he said.

In the bedroom, Asahi rifled through the drawers the same way he did in the kitchen. There was nothing in the dresser, nothing tucked in the corners, nothing in the nightstand or the desk. Everything had been emptied thoroughly. At length he sat on the bed and crossed his arms in mild frustration. “Whoever cleaned this place out did a good job,” he mumbled.

Nishinoya didn't respond, and Asahi looked up. Nishinoya was standing a short distance away, staring at a print hanging on the wall. It was a print of a woodcut painting, one that had been in the apartment when Asahi first moved in. He hadn't really noticed it before.

“What is it?” 

Nishinoya shook his head. “I noticed this. Yesterday, it must have been?” He frowned. “I looked at it then, and it...” He visibly fought for the words, then made a frustrated noise. “I don't know!” he blurted finally. “It's all muddled up in my head but – I think it's important for some reason.”

Asahi stood up. “Where did it come from?”

“I don't know,” Nishinoya repeated.

Asahi stepped over toward the painting. It was a fairly generic scene, tiny birds sitting on the branches of a flowering tree. Asahi didn't recognize it, but that didn't mean much. He raised his hands to the edges of the framed print and lifted it carefully off the wall.

Behind the painting was a huge hole in the plaster.

Asahi's mouth dropped open. “What the--?!” He leaned forward and peered into the hole. It was almost as large as his entire head. There seemed to be nothing inside the wall, though it was dark inside and he couldn't see very well.

“Look!” Nishinoya said, and Asahi pulled back.

A piece of paper had fluttered off the back of the frame and landed at their feet. Asahi gingerly set the print down before crouching and lifting the paper off the floor. There was writing on it in a graceful hand.

_Hopefully this will class your new apartment up a little bit. Try not to destroy the place before you've properly moved in. Remember that I'm just the next station down if you need something. -Sugawara_

There was an address after the name, but it looked like something had been spilled on the paper, and the numbers were smudged.

“Sugawara.” Nishinoya's voice came very near to his ear, and Asahi jumped. He hadn't realized Nishinoya was leaning over his shoulder.

“Does the name sound familiar?”

“Maybe?” There was a pensive little crease in the center of Nishinoya's forehead. “Maybe...” he repeated, more cautiously.

“We can try the address,” Asahi suggested. “Do you think that's a six or an eight?”

“A six,” Nishinoya said. He frowned. “No, it's an eight. It's definitely an eight.”

Asahi looked at the clock. It wasn't even eight-thirty. “We have time for it,” he said. “Should we go check it out?”

Nishinoya's mouth quirked at one end, showing a flash of teeth. “Well, why the hell not?”

~

The address really was one stop down the line, in a nice little neighborhood of condominiums.

Asahi wasn't encouraged by the look on Nishinoya's face as he stared up at the door. “Look familiar?”

“Not really...” Nishinoya admitted.

The name on the plate wasn't Sugawara, but Nishinoya went up the front steps to the door all the same. He turned back toward Asahi when he noticed he wasn't following. “Hey, I can't knock by myself, remember?”

Asahi didn't move from the foot of the stairs. “Are you sure?” he said. “You think this is the right place?” 

“Hell, I don't know!” Nishinoya declared. “But how the heck do you expect to find out without asking, Asahi?”

Asahi didn't really have a rebuttal for that. He took the stairs slowly, one at a time, until he stood on the front stoop. He gave Nishinoya a pleading look, but Nishinoya only made a shooing motion toward the door as encouragement. Asahi sighed and raised his hand to the knocker.

It made a sharp sound, like a crack of thunder, and Asahi could hear it echo into the foyer beyond the door. But nothing happened. No one came to the door.

“Try again,” Nishinoya suggested, as the silence dragged long.

“I don't know if–”

“TRY AGAIN,” Nishinoya demanded.

“Right!” Asahi grabbed the knocker again and hit it hard. The noise echoed again, more loudly this time, but the result didn't change. There was no answer.

Asahi cast his gaze aside at Nishinoya in time to see his face boil over in fury. “Shit!” Nishinoya shouted. He swung his foot to kick at the small statue of a turtle on the doorstep – his foot passed through and he nearly tumbled over, off-balance. Asahi instinctively moved to grab at his elbow, but his hand clutched at chilled empty air.

“Damnit, damnit, damnit!” Nishinoya continued, as he stomped in place and hopped around in an angry little circle.

“Sorry,” Asahi said automatically. “I'm sorry.”

“How many dead-ends are we gonna run into!” Nishinoya demanded. “Apparently everyone either didn't know me or is never home!”

“That's not true,” Asahi insisted, “we just haven't found them yet.”

Nishinoya clenched his fists at his sides and settled into furious silence. He stared at the door as though he could bore a hole through it. Finally, in a tight voice, he admitted, “It's like I don't even exist at all.”

Asahi felt a sharp twang in his chest. He wanted to place a grounding hand on Nishinoya's shoulder but knew it would be a fruitless endeavor. Instead, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You exist to me, Nishinoya,” he said.

Nishinoya's shoulders lowered. He turned his head slowly and met Asahi's gaze. His eyebrows were turned down at the outer ends, which gave his face a sad, anxious countenance. “Well,” he said quietly, “I'm glad for that, at least.” He looked at the door again. After a moment, he said, “hang on.”

“What do you...” Asahi started to say as Nishinoya took a step forward. “Nishinoya!” he blurted as Nishinoya poked his head directly through the heavy door, disappearing inside past his shoulders.

Nishinoya's waved his hand with the palm turned downward, indicating that Asahi calm down. The top half of his body was still hidden from sight. He slowly pulled back out from the door, rocking backward on his feet. “Wait here,” he said, then he took a another step forward and passed through the door entirely.

“Nishinoya, wait!” Asahi hissed, but he was already gone.

Asahi stood in place for a long time, frozen in silent shock, until panic sprang into his throat. “Nishinoya,” he called softly. When there was no answer, he tried again a little louder, “Nishinoya!”

How long would it take, he wondered, for Nishinoya to come back out again? What if Nishinoya disappeared once more – how long was Asahi supposed to wait for him, how would he know? And if he mistakenly left before Nishinoya came back out – would Nishinoya be able to find the way back home?

Asahi looked around in desperation. No one was behind him on the sidewalk, no one down either sidewalk. He stepped forward and jiggled the door handle, but it was locked fast. “Nishinoya?” he called a third time, his voice trending toward an anxious whine.

He heard an approaching voice before he saw the person it belonged to, a bright tenor filled with laughter coming from around the corner. Asahi gave the impassive door another look. The voice got louder as the speaker drew closer. With his distress growing exponentially, at a loss for any other option, Asahi did the only thing he could think of in that moment.

~

The condominium was dark and quiet inside when Nishinoya went through the door. There was a light on in the foyer, and a yellow glow from the lamps outside filtered in through the front windows, but no other illumination. Nishinoya almost took off his sneakers on instinct before remembering he wasn't really wearing them, then stepped forward into the hallway.

It was a nice place, with detailed tile floors in the front hallway. Nishinoya could see the dark openings of the interior rooms beyond the reach of the light in the foyer. Carpeted stairs to his side led up to a second level. Nothing about it seemed familiar to him.

There was a little table to his left, which bore a small dish for keys and loose change. A notepad sat on the table, and the top page was filled with neat writing.

_Ichirou–_

_Food is in the cabinet in the usual place! There should be plenty to get Momo through the week, but if you need more please use the money we've left on the counter. If there is any trouble don't hesitate to call. Thank you very much for helping this week. We will see you again next Tuesday!_ – _Auntie_

Tuesday, Nishinoya thought. They could come back then. How far away was Tuesday? What day was it today? He would have to ask Asahi. He couldn't remember – he realized he didn't know what month it was, what year. What had happened to him? Nishinoya felt that same stab of panicked concern spark back into his stomach, but he squashed it down. They would figure it out, he told himself. Asahi would help him.

There was a soft sound behind him, a low purring chirrup. Nishinoya turned around and saw an orange tabby sitting on the stairs at the same height as his eye-line. It was looking at him directly, its head quirked to the side, tail up in a curious hook.

“I bet you're Momo,” Nishinoya said. The cat made no response, but turned its head the other way while keeping its large dark eyes fixed on his face; its right ear tipped toward the ceiling. Its tail curled on itself, flicking one way and then another.

“Hey, do you see me, Momo?” Nishinoya asked it. “I bet you do.” He lifted his hand with the back of it facing toward the cat, centimeters from its whiskered nose.

For the span of a few heartbeats, the cat did nothing. Then it stretched its neck forward and sniffed at Nishinoya's hand delicately. “Hey there,” he said. He was glad no one was there to hear how his voice wobbled with relief. “Have I been here before, Momo? Do you know me?”

The cat looked at him again and blinked silently. Then it pulled back, made another chirruping sound, and went back up the stairs.

“Cats are so weird,” he grumbled after it was out of sight. Still, the cat had acknowledged him, even briefly. It was enough for now. They could always try again on Tuesday, however far away that was.

He looked again at the note on the table. The handwriting didn't match the paper that had been stuck behind the painting in his apartment. Still, the condo might belong to the Sugawara who had written the original message. But somehow...

Nishinoya looked around the apartment again. It had expensive-looking fixtures; the tile floor looked like it might be marble. He felt incredibly out of place. It wasn't just that he didn't remember being there. He was fairly certain he'd never set foot in that front hallway before – not when he had real feet, at least.

Nishinoya glanced back up the stairs on his way out the door, but the cat didn't show itself again. “Bye, Momo,” he called.

He passed through the door the same way he'd entered – it was a weird sensation, considering how little he actually felt, but he couldn't help but close his eyes and flinch as he passed through the solid wood like air through a net.

When he opened his eyes on the other side, back out in the open air, Nishinoya realized he was alone on the stairs. His mouth fell open. Asahi hadn't waited for him? It felt a betrayal, completely out of what Nishinoya expected from the brief time they'd known each other – how would he get back to the apartment? Could he take the train as usual? Could he close his eyes and will his way back?

“ _Nishinoya_ ,” a voice whispered to his left.

Nishinoya blinked in surprise. He whipped his head around and looked down into the bushes beside the stairs, from where the voice had sounded. As he looked closer, he realized Asahi was crouched awkwardly behind the foliage, the leaves quivering around the bulk of his badly-hidden body.

Nishinoya covered his mouth with his hand in an attempt to stop himself, but it was no use – the laughter came exploding out of him anyway. “What the hell are you _doing_!” he managed finally, nearly doubled over in delighted agony.

“Don't laugh!” Asahi begged. His head popped out from the top of the bushes. Leaves and twigs were caught in his loose hair. “Someone walked by!”

Nishinoya was still laughing. “So you jumped into the _bushes?_ ”

“I panicked!” Asahi said quickly as he struggled to his feet. His sweater snagged on a branch, and he cursed softly as he untangled himself. “I thought it would look suspicious if I was just hanging out in front the door!” 

“And hiding in the bushes? That's _way_ less suspicious!”

“I didn't say it was smart!” Asahi insisted. He brushed a few stray leaves off his sweater. His cheeks darkened. “I didn't want to leave without you,” he mumbled quietly with his eyes cast down.

The sentiment behind that statement softened the rest of Nishinoya's laughter. “Thank you,” he said, and he genuinely meant it. “I'm glad you're here, Asahi.”

Asahi lifted his eyes slowly and gave Nishinoya a shy smile. Nishinoya felt his stomach flip over in response.

The moment was ruined when Asahi's stomach gurgled so loud that Nishinoya could hear it from the stairs. Asahi blinked at him for a few seconds, his mouth open in silent embarrassment. Nishinoya burst into hysterical giggling once more.

“Oh man,” he choked, “you're a disaster, Asahi.”

“Hey,” Asahi said weakly. “It's not my fault, I haven't eaten since lunch.”

“Who's fault is it, then!”

“I don't know,” Asahi said. “It's been a... complicated day.”

It seemed like the understatement of the century. Nishinoya put his hands on his hips. “You gotta take better care of yourself, Asahi,” he insisted. “How do you expect to help me if you can't help yourself?”

Asahi looked at the ground. He picked twigs off the front of his sweater.

“Well, let's get you something to eat,” Nishinoya said.

There was a convenience store next to the train station and a little park across the road. They sat together on a park bench while Asahi ate the dinner he'd cobbled together from the store's ready-made selections. It was after nine o'clock and fully dark, but the streetlamps were on and the bench where they sat was illuminated by a yellow-cast glow. Nishinoya leaned over to look past his feet barely coasting the ground and realized there was only one shadow on the paved walkway in front of them.

“Hey, what day is it?” he asked.

Asahi paused with his mouth full. “Wha'ay?” he repeated around his food.

Nishinoya snorted. He pointed at his own cheek. “You, uh, got somethin' there.”

Asahi looked dumbfounded as he raised his hand to his cheek and found the streak of sauce just past the corner of his mouth. He swallowed. “Ah...” He laughed nervously. He was blushing again. “Sorry...” He wiped at his cheek with the back of his hand. He crushed the empty wrapper. “It's Friday.”

“Friday,” Nishinoya echoed. Tuesday wasn't that far. They could come back again to the condo.

“Do you know what month it is?” Asahi asked.

Nishinoya felt the nervousness return at the echo of his earlier thought, but it didn't seem so overwhelming now with Asahi beside him. It wasn't summer, since Asahi was wearing the sweater and it got dark before eight. It wasn't fall, since the leaves hadn't changed. “Spring?”

Asahi nodded. “It's March.” Then he looked unsure. “Wait. It might be April.” Asahi sat back, his forehead creased in heavy thought. “I think it _is_ April. Actually, I don't know if it's Friday.”

“Who's the ghost here, you or me?”

“It's probably a valid question,” Asahi admitted. He shoved the wrapper into his pocket and clasped his hands together, then leaned forward with his elbows against his knees. “I guess I don't have much going on right now.”

Nishinoya frowned at the despondency in his tone. “C'mon, Asahi,” he insisted, “it's just a busted knee.”

Asahi glanced at him over the slope of his own shoulder and gave him a tight-lipped grin. “Yeah, I guess you're right.”

Nishinoya huffed in frustration. He slid off the bench and knelt in front of Asahi.

“W-what are you doing?”

Nishinoya started to grab for Asahi's ankle, but managed to stop himself. “Do a leg extension,” he suggested. 

“Do what?”

“A leg extension!” Nishinoya insisted. “C'mon, you've been doing rehab, right? You know what that is!”

Asahi frowned. He sat back on the bench. “I'm not sure I–”

“C'mon, Asahi,” Nishinoya said. He could see Asahi's apprehension painted on his face. He was determined to push through it. “Not too much, just indulge me.”

Asahi was still frowning, but after a moment he sighed in defeat. He started to lift his leg.

“Back nice and straight,” Nishinoya suggested, “Tighten your thigh.”

“I know how to do a leg extension, Nishinoya.”

“I know you do,” Nishinoya insisted. He continued, “Move slow, bring your foot up as high as possible.”

Asahi did so. He didn't strain or make any sound of discomfort. He didn't appear to have any difficulty or pain. “It doesn't hurt?” Nishinoya asked, just to be sure.

Asahi shook his head.

“And you feel the pull here,” he said, as he held his hand over Asahi's thigh, “not in your knee?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, that's good.” Nishinoya nodded quickly. “See? You're doing good, you're fine.”

Asahi rubbed his arm awkwardly as he lowered his leg. “....you think so? But...” 

“Of course I do!” Nishinoya insisted. He leaned forward with his hands on the ground. “Listen, I have a bunch of stuff back at the apartment, resistance bands and weights and shit, and there is a decent gym near here, they have machines that will be good for you. I can put together a good workout to help you feel more comfortable with your progress.”

“But, n-no, you don't have to, I mean–”

“No buts.” Nishinoya crossed his arms. “You're helping me, right? I can help you too.”

Asahi looked at the ground beside Nishinoya and bit his lip. Nishinoya had never seen anyone look so reluctant. “What? What's the problem?” Nishinoya asked.

“I don't know if... if I'm worth it,” Asahi admitted. “I think my career is probably over anyway.”

Frustration burned in Nishinoya's stomach, almost hot enough to turn into real anger, and then he remembered what the weird kid had said in their apartment. _You're the one with the ghost on him_ , he had told Asahi.

Nishinoya let his irritation cool back to a simmer. At length, he said, “Well, we can talk about it tomorrow.” He was beginning to suspect Asahi's issue was not a single-pep-talk sort of problem.

Asahi lifted his eyes and met Nishinoya's. "You'll still be here tomorrow?”

"Well, it doesn't seem like I'm going anywhere!" Nishinoya said.

"That's true," Asahi mused. "You haven't disappeared again in awhile. Maybe you're getting more stable or something."

Nishinoya looked at his hands. They were solid and pink, nothing like the distressing moment he'd had in the bedroom where he'd been able to see all the way through them to the floor. "I wonder if that's good or bad?" he mused. Still, it was a relief all the same.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nishinoya saw Asahi move abruptly. He glanced up. Asahi was hunched over his knees again, looking cautiously over his shoulder behind him. Nishinoya stood up so he could see over the back of the bench and noticed a jogger moving past not to far from their position.

Nishinoya put his hands on his hips. "You're kinda a nervous guy, aren't you?" he asked.

Asahi blinked. He turned around and sat back again. "And you just kind of say whatever you're thinking, don't you?" 

Nishinoya grinned at him. "One of my many admirable qualities," he said.

Asahi lifted his elbows onto the back of the bench and gave a resigned sigh. His eyebrows sloped toward the middle of his forehead; the corner of his mouth creeped upward. "I'm discovering a lot of these qualities," he said. He shrugged. "I just realized how weird I probably look to someone else, just a scruffy guy talking to himself in the park after dark."

"You just now realized that? This didn't occur to you when you were hiding in the bushes earlier?"

Asahi snorted and covered his face with one hand. Nishinoya could see his grin peeking out around his palm. "I am not a smart man," he said. He wiped his hand down his face and broke into a yawn as his fingers trailed over the point of his chin.

"You tired?" 

"It's been a long day," Asahi said. "It started with a hangover, and it's ending with a ghost roommate. I seem to remember some yelling in the middle."

"Only a little," Nishinoya insisted. "You ready to go home?"

"Yeah," Asahi returned.

It seemed to be fairly late when they returned to the apartment. Nishinoya found that he had no real concept of time, but Asahi yawned and nodded on the train the entire ride back. At one point he listed so far to the side that he nearly fell through Nishinoya into the seat, but he caught himself with a start. It didn't even occur to Nishinoya to try and hide his snort.

"What should we do now?" Asahi asked with another yawn when they came in the door.

Nishinoya laughed. "Maybe you should go to bed or something."

"N-no," Asahi stumbled through another yawn. "It's okay, I just need to sit for a bit."

"Uh-huh."

Asahi threw him an irritated look, and Nishinoya found himself biting back another laugh. "We could watch some TV or something," he suggested. "Start the search again tomorrow."

Asahi nodded. "Maybe a good idea," he agreed.

In the living room, Asahi sat down on the couch on the left side. Nishinoya held back, feeling strange and off-center.

"What is it?" Asahi asked.

Nishinoya turned his head abruptly and met Asahi's eyes. He had been staring at the left arm of the couch. "What?"

"You looked... kinda mad," Asahi said cautiously. "Is there something wrong?"

Nishinoya frowned. "I don't know. Maybe? Something feels." He struggled for the proper description. "Out of place."

Asahi turned in place and looked around. "I think everything is where we left it earlier?" he said, his voice turning up at the end with uncertainty.

Nishinoya shook his head. He looked again at Asahi on his couch. He furrowed his brow. "I think," he said, "that you're in my spot."

Asahi's mouth dropped open comically. He looked down at himself. "Well!" He stood up, made a show of dusting himself off, then stepped to the other end of the couch and sat down again. "Is that better?"

Nishinoya climbed onto the left end of the couch. "You know, Asahi, you're kinda snarky when you're tired."

“I never met such a possessive ghost before.”

“What can I say? I'm a man who knows which end of the couch is his.”

“I'll have to remember that,” Asahi said. He looked exhausted, but he was grinning.

Asahi turned on the television. Some late-night drama came on; Nishinoya didn't recognize the show, but he didn't ask Asahi to change the channel. He curled his bare legs up under his oversized hoodie – the same running shorts and hoodie, the only outfit he could seem to remember wearing. They sat together without speaking for a time as the television continued on low volume. At length, Nishinoya wrapped his arms around his legs and turned his head to rest his cheek on his knee. Doing so brought Asahi into his line of vision, and Nishinoya realized then that Asahi was dozing with his head propped up on his arm against the armrest.

“Hey, Asahi,” he said.

“Hm mm?” Asahi returned without opening his eyes.

“Go to bed.”

Asahi snorted as he came fully awake and sat up straight. “No,” he said. “I'm fine. Really.”

“Asahi, you're being ridiculous.”

“You're one to talk,” Asahi mumbled. He put his head back against his hand and closed his eyes. “Mr. I-Feel-Weird-If-I'm-Not-In-My-Spot.”

Nishinoya smiled against his knee. “Why don't you want to go to bed?”

Asahi shrugged slightly, his shoulders lifting only a hint before dropping again. He was listing once more.

“That's not much of an answer,” Nishinoya said.

“It's fine,” Asahi said.

Nishinoya thought for a moment. Suddenly the lightbulb came on. “Are you trying to stay awake for me?” he asked.

Asahi didn't open his eyes, but his eyebrows raised in his forehead. “What would happen to you if I went to sleep?” he said softly.

“I'm... not sure,” Nishinoya admitted. It did feel like he got a little wobbly when Asahi wasn't around.

“You won't sleep, do you think?”

“I don't know,” Nishinoya reiterated.

“Then I won't either,” Asahi said, despite the evidence that it was a battle he was quickly losing.

Something soft and warm opened up inside Nishinoya's chest. He felt tingling in his fingers, a fluttering beneath his stomach. “Well, at least lay out on the couch,” he suggested. “You look like you might fall over and hit your head.” 

“What about y'r spot?” Asahi mumbled.

“I think I can let you share it,” Nishinoya conceded.

Asahi stayed still for a moment longer, then he shifted. He moved slowly, as though his limbs were very heavy. He leaned to the side, and Nishinoya moved out of the way to sit on the floor before Asahi's head pillowed into the cushion where he had been sitting. Asahi was too tall to stretch out on the couch; his legs stuck awkwardly out over the armrest.

“Just for a few minutes,” Nishinoya said. “Then you have to go to bed properly.”

Asahi was beyond arguing. He nodded slightly, just an inclination of his head against the couch cushion. He didn't say anything else for many minutes, and Nishinoya thought he was fully asleep, but then Asahi mumbled, “Will you still be here in the morning?”

Nishinoya looked at Asahi's hand dangling from his arm, fingers brushing the hardwood floor. He reached out and let his fingertips coast against the back of Asahi's hand, just barely passing through. He concentrated on the sensation, the diffuse feeling of warmth. “Absolutely,” he said.

He sat beside the couch for an unknown length of time, as Asahi's breath slowed and his expression smoothed. He really was young, Nishinoya realized, as he looked at Asahi's face. Too young to have that permanent worry wrinkle in his forehead.

 _You're the one with the ghost on him_ , the weird kid had said.

Nishinoya frowned and pushed his fingers through the back of Asahi's hand until they came out of his palm on the other side. Asahi flexed his fingers in response but didn't otherwise stir. His hands were huge compared to Nishinoya's, fingers wide and blunt.

This was a difficult case, Nishinoya conceded. But he was a determined guy. And two problems were just as good to solve as one, in his opinion.


	5. Chapter 5

Asahi woke up to the sound of his phone going off somewhere near his head. He groaned and fumbled in the direction of the offending noise with his eyes closed, before he finally managed to locate it on the end table next to the bed. He brought the phone to his ear and let it rest against his cheek.

“H'lo?”

It was Daichi. “Asahi, do you have rehab today?”

“What?”

“Do you have rehab? I'll go with you today if you want.”  
  
“Daichi? What – what time is it?”

Asahi heard Daichi sigh heavily on the other side of the call. “It's after nine already, Asahi. How late have you been sleeping lately? Do you–”

Asahi came fully awake as Daichi continued on. He sat up so quickly the phone dropped off of his face and bounced across the mattress. He was alone in the bedroom.

“Nishinoya!” Asahi called sharply. He just barely remembered waking up on the couch long after midnight, then fumbling his way to the bedroom before climbing into bed still wearing his clothes. He'd taken off the sweater at some point during the night, as it sat rumpled in a pile at the foot of the bed. He didn't remember seeing Nishinoya again, not since he'd fallen asleep the first time on the couch.

Asahi clambered off the bed. He got tangled in the covers in his haste and fell onto the floor. It took him a few moments to extract himself, and he was already sweating and breathing hard by the time he burst into the hallway. “Nishinoya!” he shouted again in rising desperation.

Nishinoya had promised, hadn't he? That he would still be there when Asahi woke up?

Asahi ran full-tilt into the main part of the apartment. His socked feet slid on the hardwood floor, and he crashed into the table in the dining room. It made a groaning noise as it shifted a few centimeters across the floor.

Nishinoya was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the television. He had turned around at the racket Asahi made, his eyes wide.

“Nishinoya,” Asahi gasped. He leaned over the table and put his head in his hands. He felt weak with relief.

“Uh, are you okay?” Nishinoya called.

Asahi nodded slowly. He took a few deep breaths to try and get his heart rate back under control. “I thought you were gone,” he said quietly. He lifted his head again and found Nishinoya was still staring at him in curiosity.

“I said I'd still be here, right?” Nishinoya asked.

Asahi nodded again. He allowed himself a long, measured exhalation. When he stood up once more, he felt as though he were nearly back to normal. “Were you there all night?” he asked finally. It must have felt like a long time, if Nishinoya hadn't slept.

“I'm not sure,” Nishinoya admitted as he turned back around. “It's all kind of fuzzy when you're not around, you know? But look!” He shoved his hand into the cable box underneath the television. “Check this out!” He flexed his arm, flicking his wrist and his unseen hand, and the channel changed.

“Whoa,” Asahi said.

“That's pretty cool, right?” Nishinoya demanded. “I'm a fucking poltergeist!” He threw back his head and laughed as he rapidly flipped between channels.

Asahi crossed over into the living room proper and stepped around the couch. He knelt next to Nishinoya. “Are you getting more solid?” he asked. He reached out a hand, aiming for Nishinoya's shoulder. It passed through the same as before.

“I guess not,” Asahi said.

He realized he was sitting very close to Nishinoya, wearing only an undershirt and the same jeans from the previous day. He knew his hair was probably a rat's nest of tangles. He hoped Nishinoya couldn't smell his breath; he hadn't brushed his teeth the night before, and his mouth tasted atrocious.

Asahi noticed his hand was still inside Nishinoya's shoulder, so he quickly retracted it. “Good morning,” he said awkwardly in the silence that followed.

Nishinoya didn't seem to notice. Or perhaps he didn't care. He just turned in place, his sharp knees folding together as he moved. “What's for breakfast?” he said brightly as he stood up.

“Breakfast?” Asahi echoed.

“Yeah!”

“But...” Asahi slowly clambered to his feet. “Can you eat? Do you get hungry?”

“It's not for me,” Nishinoya insisted as he headed for the kitchen. “You need to start eating breakfast. How do you expect to have the energy to do anything if you don't eat something first?”

“I’m usually fine,” Asahi insisted. “A protein shake is all I can generally stomach in the morning anyway.”

Nishinoya stopped in the middle of the dining room. He put a hand to his forehead. “Asahiiiii,” he groaned. “How are we gonna get you healthy like this!”

“Is that something we’re gonna do?”

“Asahi, you’re killin’ me.”

Asahi felt a smile tickle at his mouth and he pursed his lips to hide it. “So,” he said, “what do you suggest?”

After one successful breakfast — backseat-driven by Nishinoya, though Asahi nixed his suggestion of hot peppers this early on the excuse that they didn’t have any on hand — “There’s a store down the street!” Nishinoya suggested, but Asahi managed to talk him down — they sat together at the dining table and contemplated the options before them.

“Your books?” Asahi suggested, then he paused. He asked cautiously, “they _are_ yours, right?” Nishinoya didn't strike him as a terribly bookish person.

Nishinoya blinked at him and then started laughing. “Me 'n' books, right?” he said. “A match made in heaven.”

Asahi smiled. “Now, now. There are lots of books in the case. Could any of them be library books?” he asked.

“Probably not,” Nishinoya concluded.

“Maybe worth a look,” Asahi said, more as appeasement than any real suggestion. He thought again. “We could try Yaku and Lev again,” he said. “I got a feeling that Yaku may have known a little more than he shared.”

Nishinoya nodded. “I still don’t remember him very well though,” he admitted. He closed his eyes and scrunched his face up. “Just…” He exhaled and opened his eyes again. “I just remember running into them a couple times in the hall.”

“He did say you hadn’t lived here long,” Asahi returned.

“Mm.” Nishinoya’s face squeezed into a thoughtful pout. “It’s weird, you know? I thought that apartment was the same size as mine, but it must’ve been two bedrooms.”

Asahi coughed. “W-why do you say that?”

“Well, they both live there. I don’t imagine they’re sharing one bedroom.”

Asahi could feel his back sweating. “You don’t think so?”

Nishinoya laughed. “Why would they do that? Unless—” He stopped laughing abruptly. He frowned, staring at the opposite wall. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

Apprehension did its best attempt to smother Asahi. He hid his shaking hands under the table. “Does it — does it bother you?”

Nishinoya looked up. “What? No!” He waved his hands emphatically. “No, no, no!” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m just surprised it took me so long to realize.”

“Yes, they were a bit…” Asahi searched for the word. “Overt,” he said.

“Well, hell,” Nishinoya said, “when you love someone why should you hide it?”

Asahi allowed himself a sad sort of smile. “You’re right,” he agreed.

“Is that why you got so nervous over there?” Nishinoya asked. “Does that sort of thing bother you?”

Asahi jumped. “N-no,” he said. Under the table, he twisted his hands together over and over again. He looked down at the hardwood surface. “It doesn’t bother me,” he said. “They just looked…” He thought about the homey atmosphere of Lev and Yaku’s apartment, the easy way they had together, the casual touches between them.

It made him feel so lonely.

“They looked really happy,” Asahi concluded softly. He could feel Nishinoya’s gaze on him, though Nishinoya didn’t say anything else for a long moment.

“Okay, then,” Nishinoya said finally. “Neighbors are a dead end for now. What else do we have?”

Asahi shrugged, still looking at the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nishinoya slump back with a heavy sigh.

Nishinoya stretched out his hands across the tabletop. He alternated patting his palms against the table in a silent drumbeat. As he exhaled he purposefully popped his lips, breaking up the sound. Finally, he said.“I have an idea. It’s stupid.”

He stood up, and Asahi followed.

Nishinoya led him into the kitchen. There, he halted next to the telephone and pointed at the notepad beside it. “What do you think?” he asked.

“What do I think about what?” Asahi returned, in a somewhat more cautious tone.

“C’mon!” Nishinoya insisted. “You ever see in mysteries, there's always a scene where they find old messages on notepads by shading them in with a pencil?” He gestured with his hand while describing the action.

“Does that even work in real life?” Asahi asked. All the same, he tried to remember if he’d seen a pencil anywhere in the apartment.

“Might as well try it, right?” Nishinoya grinned at him, bright-eyed and luminous.

Asahi was beginning to suspect this was Nishinoya’s general philosophy on many things. He found that he couldn’t help but smile in return. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

They found a pencil in the junk drawer of the kitchen. Asahi held it up to the notepad and turned back toward Nishinoya. “Ready?”  
  
Nishinoya nodded quickly as he crowded in close. “Not too hard!” he said.

Asahi took a deep breath. He started in the corner, shading very lightly. The pencil was old and dull, and it made a thick stroke against the paper. For several inches nothing appeared, and then suddenly there was a line of white amidst the smudges of graphite — a lingering indentation from an old note.

Asahi turned to Nishinoya in excitement. “Don’t stop now!” Nishinoya ordered.

“Right!” Asahi redoubled his efforts, feeling braver with each stroke. More white appeared from the paper as he added soft layers of dark pencil lead. Soon he had three quarters of the sheet filled in, and he took a step back, lowering his hand as he did so.

On the paper, contrast in the negative of dark graphite on wispy white lines, was a little doodle of what appeared to be a stick-figure person wearing rocket-powered roller skates.

Asahi covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh,” he said finally. “Well, um. It’s…”

“Well, it’s not a clue,” Nishinoya said. When Asahi turned to look at him, he saw that Nishinoya had his hands on his hips. Their eyes met. The ends of Nishinoya’s mouth came up. The corners of his eyes crinkled. Asahi started laughing first, but Nishinoya joined him almost immediately. The sound of it filled up the small kitchen, swelling like light inside Asahi’s ribcage, even down into the dark corners of his mind. Asahi felt tears forming in his eyes; he had to brace himself against the counter to stay on his feet.

“You got pencil on your face!” Nishinoya cried as he pointed.

Asahi looked at his palm and saw it was smudged with graphite. “What?” he asked, “here?” He smeared his hand across his cheek from nose to chin.

“No, no, no!” Nishinoya howled. “Stop, stop!”

“Maybe you’re an inventor,” Asahi suggested. “A scientist.” He gestured at the drawing. “An engineer of dangerous new forms of transport.”

“Holy shit,” Nishinoya laughed, “that must be it!”

Asahi’s face hurt from smiling. “I’m gonna wash up,” he said. “Then, let’s go for a walk outside. Maybe something in the neighborhood will jog your memory.”

“No rocket skates in this future, huh?”  
  
“Not to my knowledge,” Asahi agreed. “But then again, I’m just a dumb jock.”

“Ain’t that dumb,” Nishinoya returned with a grin. “You got good taste in apartments.”

“I don’t know, it’s apparently on the level of someone who thinks about rocket skates, so there’s no telling, really.”  
  
“Hey!”

Nishinoya’s eyes were still dancing. Asahi felt lighter than he had in a long time.

In the bathroom, Asahi brushed the tangles out of his hair and pulled it back, doubling his hair into a loop before he twisted the hair-tie onto it to keep the tail off his neck. He washed his face in the sink until he’d removed the film of sleep and all lingering traces of smudged pencil lead. Then, as he straightened in front of the mirror, he caught sight of his reflection. His eyes looked open and clear. He tried smiling at himself, and found that the muscles moved easier than he remembered.

From the drawer, he retrieved the package of razors that he’d bought a week earlier and never opened. He leaned over the sink to shave.

~

Asahi was locking the door of the apartment behind him when he heard Nishinoya hiss, “Asahi, _look_.” He lifted his head and glanced the way Nishinoya was pointing. Down the hall, at the first door they had tried the night before, was a young man. He was jiggling his key in the lock. He looked like he was just getting home.

“Say something!” Nishinoya demanded.

“Hello!” Asahi squawked.

The man looked up. He about their age, broad and handsome, with a stern face and dark hair. “Good morning,” he returned evenly.

Asahi cleared his throat. “Hello,” he said again. “Do you live here?”

“I do,” the man returned. He looked at Asahi with heavy brows low over his eyes. “Do _you_?” he asked.

“F-for now,” Asahi said. “I'm just leasing.” He looked back down at the key in his hand. He closed his fingers into a fist over it.. “I'm trying to get in touch with the owner,” he said before he lost his nerve. “Do you know him?”

"That kid, huh?" the man said. "He owe you money or something?"

"Kid! MONEY!" sputtered Nishinoya, while Asahi tried to ignore him and asked instead, "Do you know his name? Or where he worked?"

The man looked Asahi up and down suspiciously for a moment. "I don't remember him moving out," he said.

"I just signed a lease a couple days ago," Asahi explained quickly.

“Hm,” the man returned. His face settled into a pensive expression. “Well,” he concluded finally, and the line in his shoulders eased as he shrugged, “I can't truthfully say that I spend much time here. So it's entirely possible I missed seeing him go.” He looked up at Asahi again with an expression that had less edge to it. “I'm sorry to tell you I didn't know him very well.”

“Damnit!” Nishinoya's voice chimed from beside Asahi's shoulder.

“But,” the man continued, “my friend knows him from one of the places he does business with – I can get his number for you."

Asahi was rooted briefly in shock – a lead, a real lead! He forgot then that he was trying to pretend Nishinoya wasn't there and turned to find him staring back with unveiled excitement. He quickly remembered himself and their neighbor in the hallway.

“Yes,” he said, “yes, I would appreciate that, thank you.”

“Alright, I’ll get his card,” the man said.  "And..." He winced and added, “I apologize in advance.”

~

Clouds hung low and thick in the sky, but the temperature was mild. Asahi found himself comfortable enough in his worn t-shirt as they walked along the street. Nishinoya, of course, still wore the shorts and sweatshirt.

Asahi flipped the business card over in his hand. Over a white background, it bore a metallic blue silhouette of a castle tower surrounded by curling green vines. _Blue Castle Orthotics_ , it said in shiny black characters. _Oikawa Tooru, Sales Representative_. There was an email address and a phone number.

“You know him?” Asahi asked.

“I don’t know!” Nishinoya returned with a shrug. “Apparently I do!”

“Orthotics,” Asahi read off the card. “What’s orthotics?”

“Like, braces and things? You know, for injury rehab, or correctional use.”

Asahi stopped walking. “Like my knee brace?”

“Yeah, that’s an orthosis.”

“Wait, wait,” Asahi said. “How do you know all this stuff? About my knee, about othorsises–”

“Orthoses.”

“Whatever!” Asahi threw his hands up. “Nishinoya,” he said seriously, clutching the card in front of him. “Are you a doctor?”

Nishinoya stared at him silently for a full five seconds, then burst into high-pitched peals of laughter. “Me??” he finally managed, “a _doctor_?” He kept laughing,

“Hey, it’s not that ridiculous,” Asahi said. He couldn’t help feeling that Nishinoya’s amusement was at his expense.

“No, but – can you imagine? Who would entrust me with medicine? Who would entrust me with their _life_?”

“There’s got to be something!” Asahi insisted. He brandished the card. “You know this guy! You know how to treat my knee!”

“I do,” Nishinoya agreed. He seemed to be calming down. “I don’t know how, but I do.”

“It’s got to be something,” Asahi reiterated. “I know it.”

Nishinoya grinned, eyes gleaming. “What the hell are we waiting for? Let’s call him!”

Asahi swallowed hard. Nishinoya had that set to him, the edge to his gaze, the line of his shoulders, the flex at his jawline. It made Asahi’s heart speed up. His palms felt sweaty. He gave Nishinoya a short nod and pulled his phone from his pocket. He ignored the notifications of two missed calls from Daichi and dialed the number on the business card.

The line rang once. Asahi chewed his lip. It rang again. He closed his eyes. It rang a third time.

 _Please_ , he begged silently, not entirely sure what he was begging for.

There was a click as the call connected. “Hello!” a voice answered in English, singsong and light, before reverting to Japanese for the remainder of the greeting. “This is Blue Castle, how may I help you?”

Asahi’s eyes snapped toward Nishinoya’s. His mouth worked silently for a moment.

“What what what?!” Nishinoya shouted, gesturing furiously.

“Hello?” came the voice again from the other end of the line.

“Ex-” Asahi’s voice squeaked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Excuse me,” he said, “is this Oikawa Tooru?”

“Guilty as charged,” the voice said. “How may I help you, sir?”

Asahi gave Nishinoya a thumbs-up, and Nishinoya appeared to nearly vibrate in place in excitement. “This might be a weird question–” Asahi began.

“I live for weird questions,” Oikawa returned. “You’ll never out-weird some of the things I’ve heard, I promise you.”

Asahi felt himself smile thinly. He looked at the sidewalk. “You might be surprised,” he said. He shook his head. “I got your card from my neighbor – I wondered if you would be able to tell me anything about someone named Nishinoya?”

“Nishinoya?” Oikawa echoed. “From Suga-chan’s practice?”

Asahi mouthed the name silently. _Suga_ , _Suga_ …. At a loss, he repeated, “Suga?”

“ _Sugawara?_ ” Nishinoya demanded. “From the note?!”

The light went on. “Yes!” Asahi blurted, just as Oikawa said, “You don’t know Suga-chan?”

“Yes, of course!” Asahi continued quickly. “From Sugawara’s practice, yes!”

Light laughter filtered across the connection. “So you know Sugawara but you want _me_ to tell you about Noya-chan?” Oikawa made a sharp _tsk_ noise. “That’s so naughty, Mr. Stranger.”

“That’s – what…”

“I’m not saying I don’t understand, because I do. He’s very attractive, isn’t he? Beautiful face. His eyes.”

Asahi felt heat in his neck and face. His gaze shot to Nishinoya. Those amber eyes stared back at him, fierce and bright. “N-no–” he stuttered, “it’s not–”

“And you know him from the gym there, right? So you know how fit he is.”

Asahi tore his eyes from Nishinoya. His head felt like it was on fire. Sweat formed under his shirt, on his back. “No, no, I’m not… I’m. I just. I’m renting from him.”

“What is it?” Nishinoya said. “What’s going on?” Asahi used his hand to make a blinder on the side of his face turned toward Nishinoya as though it could temper his mortification. It didn’t work.

“He’s a firecracker. He’s rather small, but you get the feeling he could lift at least twice his weight. Those thighs, you know?”

“P-please–”

“Are you trying to find out if he’s interested in men? I’m sure Suga-chan knows more than I do. My suspicion is–”

“PLEASE!!” Asahi blurted. “I’m just trying to find out how to contact him!”

“Well, I don’t have his number but I know he lives across from my Iwa,” Oikawa said. “It’s just a few stops south from Suga-chan’s practice.”

“N-no,” Asahi said, “that’s fine, I’m sorry to bother you.”  
  
“Wait,” Oikawa said, “You said your neighbor gave you my card – who is your neighbor?”

“I’m sorry!” Asahi said again, before he abruptly ended the call.

“What happened?” Nishinoya demanded. “Did he say anything?”

“He said–” Asahi wiped sweat off his forehead with the heel of his hand. “He said a lot of things…” He still couldn’t bring himself to look at Nishinoya. _Attractive_ . _Beautiful_ . _Fit_. Oikawa had used all those words.

They weren’t inaccurate, as far as Asahi had noticed.

“Well, what did he say, then! Did you learn anything?”

“A gym,” Asahi said quietly. “He mentioned a gym. At Sugawara’s practice.” He chewed on his lip as he thought. Slowly, the pieces slid together in his brain. “Nishinoya,” he said at length.

“What?”  
  
Asahi finally managed to glance at him. The books on the shelf, Nishinoya’s familiarity with his injury. It was starting to come together. “Nishinoya,” he repeated, “do you think you could be a rehab therapist?”

“I’m just an assistant right now,” Nishinoya corrected, “but I have been thinking about going back to school so I can be a therapist.”

Asahi froze at the same time Nishinoya did, when the full weight of his statement fell on both of them.

“What?!” Asahi blurted, overlapping with Nishinoya’s exclamation of “HOLY SHIT!”

“Is that true?” Asahi asked.

“It is!” Nishinoya said. “I’m a physical therapy assistant!”

“That’s – that’s–”

“Holy shit!” Nishinoya repeated.

“That’s _amazing_ ,” Asahi finally managed. “That’s–” He quieted. He took in the image of it – Nishinoya beside someone, pushing them hard to their limit and encouraging them to reach it in the same breath. “That’s perfect,” he said softly.

“Let’s go!” Nishinoya said, and he started walking along the sidewalk so quickly that Asahi had to jog a few steps to catch up again.

“Go where?”

“To Sugawara’s practice, of course! They’ll know what happened to me!”

“Do you remember where it is?”

Nishinoya stopped so abruptly that Asahi slightly walked into him before he caught himself. Asahi stepped back quickly, shaking his hands to dispel the chill from Nishinoya’s gossamer form.

“No…” Nishinoya admitted. “I don’t.”

He looked so deflated for a moment that Asahi had to smile sympathetically. “That’s alright,” Asahi said, “it’s just a few stops north of the apartment.”

~

A quick search on Asahi’s phone yielded only a few results that fit the criteria of physical therapy offices along the line that ran north of their apartment. The first one they stopped at had been a bust – Nishinoya didn’t recognize anyone there, and they hadn’t been familiar with his name. So they approached the second location with slightly muted enthusiasm.

It was on the second floor of an innocuous office building. Inside the vestibule they found a directory on the wall that detailed the businesses within. _Foothills Physical Therapy_ – _Suite 207_ , the sign read.

They took the stairs. Asahi held open the door to the enclosed stairwell for Nishinoya, realizing afterward how it probably looked to anyone who couldn’t see him.

Inside the stairwell, Nishinoya stopped. “Wait,” he said.

Asahi turned on the first step. “What is it?”

The levels of the stairwell were offset from each other, which left an open space to the right of the first flight. Apart from a case on the wall containing a fire extinguisher, the space was empty. Nishinoya was looking at the fire extinguisher with the expression of a man in deep contemplation.

“I know this place,” he said finally.

“You do?” Asahi asked.

“Yeah, I know I do,” Nishinoya continued, his voice growing in confidence. He crossed over to the fire extinguisher. “Here, help me out with this.”

Asahi stepped back down to the floor and walked to where Nishinoya stood. “With what?”

“Lift up the extinguisher.”

Asahi started. “I can’t! Won’t it set off an alarm or something?”

“What kinda fancy alarms you think this place has?” Nishinoya said. He pointed at the extinguisher and demanded, “Pick it up!”

Asahi grimaced. He lifted his hand and carefully opened the case. It wasn’t locked. No alarm sounded. He breathed a sigh of relief.

“Are you Indiana Jones? C’mon already!”

Asahi wrapped his hand around the body of the fire extinguisher. Nothing seemed to happen. He lifted and pulled it out of the case. The thing was a perfectly normal fire extinguisher, and the case was empty behind. Asahi frowned. “No luck?” he asked.

Nishinoya still had the expression on his face, one like he was solving a math equation or contemplating ancient philosophy. “Try… try turning it over,” he suggested.

There was a key taped to the bottom of the fire extinguisher. It was a perfectly ordinary looking key, brass with a circular bow. In fact – Asahi dug around in his pocket with his free hand and extracted the apartment key on its long black cord. When he held it up next to the other key, he saw that they were identical.

“It’s to the apartment,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Nishinoya returned. “I put it there.”

Asahi stared at the key. “Why is this here?” he asked. “How did it end up in this building?”

“I put it there!” Nishinoya said again. He put his hands on either side of his head with his elbows pointed outward.. “I forget my key all the time and I couldn’t find a spot to hide one in the hallway, and since I basically live at the practice Suga-san suggested I hide one somewhere in this building!” His face had lost the pensive look and was now bordering on frenetic. His hair stuck out in all directions. “Asahi!” he shouted suddenly.

Asahi jumped. “W-what?”

Nishinoya lowered his hands. “I remember,” he said. “I remember this building and Suga-san’s practice. I remember working here.” He looked up at Asahi. “We’re gonna figure out who I am,” he said. “We’ll find out what happened to me.”

Asahi felt excitement and apprehension tangle together inside him. He saw those emotions reflected in Nishinoya. “Well,” he said, “what are we waiting for?”

~

Suite 207 was a few doors down from the elevator on the left side of the hallway. Interior windows looked in on a waiting room with a few couches and chairs.

“Are you ready for this?” Asahi asked.

“Hell no,” Nishinoya said, though he never slowed his pace toward the door. He would’ve gone straight through it if Asahi hadn’t hastily pulled the door open at the last minute.

Inside the office, innocuous music played softly. Decorations included artistically done black and white photos of posed joints — bare elbows, ankles, and wrists in various arrangements of articulation — interspersed with notices about policy updates, schedule changes, insurance information.  There was a counter near the far wall of the waiting room and a young woman behind it.

“Well?” Asahi whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Is this the place?”  
  
“This is it!” Nishinoya shouted. “This is absolutely it!”

Asahi fought down the urge to shush him, reminding himself that no one could hear him, and he was imagining the way Nishinoya’s voice rang off the minimally decorated walls. He nodded and walked toward the counter.

The girl looked up as he approached. “May I help you, sir?”

“Yacchan!” Nishinoya blurted at his elbow. “That’s Yacchan!”

Asahi ignored him as best he could. “Yes,” he said. “I’m looking for someone. I believe he works here.”

The girl — ‘Yacchan’ as Nishinoya had dubbed her — looked at him cautiously. “Are you here on referral, or…”

“Ah, no,” Asahi said. “I just… heard that he works here…”

“Yacchan’s even more nervous than you,” Nishinoya said helpfully.

Asahi tried to keep his voice casual. “His name is Nishinoya,” he said. “I’m a…” He debated the proper word. “I’m a friend of his.”

After he spoke, if Asahi hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn he heard a literal record scratch. The girl looked up at him, visibly shocked. “N-nishinoya-san?” she said in a meek voice. “You were a friend of Nishinoya-san?”

“Oh no,” Nishinoya said. “She said ‘were’.”

Asahi nodded. He hoped his face kept a neutral expression.

The girl knocked over the cup of pens on her desk as she stood up. “E-excuse me,” she said. Her voice wobbled — there was no mistaking it. “Let m-me get Sugawara-san.” Her eyes were shining as she disappeared through the door at the end of the counter.

“Oh god, what’s with her face?” Nishinoya said. “She looked upset.” He leaned on the counter to peer at Asahi’s expression. “You’re no scarier than usual,” he concluded. “So it’s gotta be me.”

“Nishinoya,” Asahi whispered, “you’re making me nervous. I’ll mess up.”

“You’re always nervous,” Nishinoya returned in an irritable tone, but he stayed silent until a young man came out of the door.

Asahi bolted upright. “That’s him!” he said under his breath. “That’s the guy I saw outside that condo!”

“What?”

“When I hid in the bushes!” Asahi hissed between clenched teeth, as the man approached.

“Him?” Nishinoya pointed. “Asahi, that’s Suga-san! That’s my boss!”

There was no time for Asahi to respond, as Sugawara reached them at that moment. He had a tight look on his face, nearly hidden beneath a diplomatic smile. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Sugawara Koushi. This is my practice. I understand you’re asking after one of our employees?”

Asahi risked a glance at Nishinoya, who gave him an aggressive _say something_ sort of gesture. “Ah, yes…” Asahi realized he was fidgeting with the little tray of notecards on the counter, so he pulled his hands back and clasped them together. “Does someone named Nishinoya work here?”

“Do you mean our Yuu?” Sugawara asked in a mild tone.

“YES!” Nishinoya bellowed, so loud that Asahi nearly jumped. “That’s me!”

Asahi swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Nishinoya Yuu.”

Sugawara tilted his head. “How do you know Nishinoya?” he asked. Though his tone was perfectly polite and neutral, Asahi had the distinct impression that Sugawara was sizing him up as a hawk might a rodent.

“Oh shit,” Nishinoya said. “Suga-san’s really smart. You better come up with a good excuse. He’ll be able to figure out you’re lying otherwise.”

“Um, I, uh...” Asahi cleared his throat. They should’ve rehearsed; they should’ve made a plan. Sugawara would know all of Nishinoya’s clients, so that wouldn’t work. He’d been to Nishinoya’s apartment so maybe he already knew the neighbors — Who knew what Sugawara knew and what he didn’t? Asahi couldn’t think of any other reason. The conversation with Oikawa flashed through his brain. He thought about Yaku and Lev. He panicked.

“We… we dated,” Asahi said.

“We _what_?” Nishinoya demanded beside him, and Asahi felt the blood rush into his face so quickly that he heard a roaring in his ears.

Sugawara also looked surprised. “You dated Nishinoya?” he asked.

Asahi nodded again. “Yes,” he said. “For a little while.”

Nishinoya was still clamoring beside him. “That’s not gonna work! You’d know what was going on if we were dating!”

“We had to break up,” Asahi said quickly. “Because I… went abroad. For work.” He picked up speed as he fleshed out the lie. “We lost touch a few months ago and I’m back in the country now, so I thought I’d look him up. Try to reconnect.”

Sugawara watched him carefully throughout the explanation with a hand on his chin. At length he smiled. “That explains it,” he said. “Of course.”

Asahi almost sagged with relief.

“But then—” Sugawara said, and his voice turned oh-so-slightly sharp. “If you had dated Nishinoya, you’d be able to tell me something about him, wouldn’t you?”

“W-what?” Asahi said.

“Tell me something about Nishinoya. Something only someone close to him would know.”

Asahi felt his forehead crease. Sugawara’s expression hadn’t changed, but there was a suspicious glint to his eye that made Asahi’s hands sweat.

“Shit, I still can’t remember very much,” Nishinoya said, to Asahi’s distress. “Wait! My favorite color is yellow! Or, it might be red! I mean, maybe orange!”

“He’s… he’s…” Asahi tried to squeeze out Nishinoya’s helpful commentary. “He’s short,” he said finally.

“Short!” Nishinoya moaned.

“And he’s loud,” Asahi added. He felt himself blushing again. “And he’s… really good-looking.”

Nishinoya didn’t reply to that one.

Sugawara gave him a little grin. “Well, he is absolutely all of those things,” he agreed. “But those are pretty obvious to everyone.”

Asahi bit his lip. He rubbed his hands together nervously. His rough fingertips coasted over his knuckles. “He has a lot of sports dvd’s,” Asahi added quietly. “He likes samurai movies.”

“You’re right there,” Sugawara agreed with a laugh.

Asahi continued. “He has a hole in his bedroom wall.” He felt a soft smile touch his lips. “He likes to eat popsicles in bed.” He thought some more. “He doesn’t give up on you,” he added quietly.

Sugawara appraised him carefully for another moment. Then, a different look crossed his face. He cast his eyes aside. “That’s our Noya,” he said wistfully. He glanced at Asahi again. “When did you lose touch with him?” he asked.

Asahi let out a breath of relief. “A few months ago,” he said.

Sugawara shook his head. “So you don’t know about…”

“About what?”

The expression that crossed Sugawara’s face gave Asahi the worst feeling of apprehension. Nishinoya must’ve felt the same, as Asahi heard him breathe, “Oh no…”

“Why don’t you come into the back,” Sugawara said, gesturing toward the door. “So we can talk in private.”  


Asahi nodded and followed him.

“I don’t like this,” Nishinoya said. “Suga-san’s not like this. Somethin’ really bad must’ve happened.”  
  
Asahi wanted to tell him to stop talking, but couldn’t do so with Sugawara so near to them as he led him to a private exam room. Inside, Sugawara gestured for Asahi to take a seat, and took one opposite.

“You’ve been to his new apartment,” Sugawara said, “so you couldn’t have missed it by too much.”

“Missed what?”  
  
Sugawara’s face took that expression again. “I’m sorry that you have to find out this way. Back in January, a few months after he signed the lease for that apartment, Nishinoya was in an accident.”

Asahi sat back. He’d known — that is, he’d known something had happened. Nishinoya wasn’t a ghost for no reason. And yet… “An accident?” he echoed. He didn’t have to pretend the note of panic in his voice. “What accident?”

Sugawara leaned forward and covered his hand with his own. “I’m so sorry,” Sugawara said.

“Oh fuck,” Nishinoya choked. Worried, Asahi looked at him; he hoped Sugawara would take the sideways glance as shock.

Nishinoya stood ramrod straight, pale as milk, translucent around the edges. He was washed out like an old photograph, all his colors faded, his outline blurred. “I remember,” he said. He lifted his hand and pushed his hair off his forehead. His eyes were terrified. “I remember my accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience while this fic was on hiatus! I will try to update more regularly from here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include scenes in a hospital, reference to injury, and mentions of claustrophobia.
> 
> I also want to say a little something about the medical content of this story: it is not intended to be a realistic work. I research a little, but hand-wave when the narrative calls for it. The movie itself was not very realistic in that regard either, despite the main character being a doctor. Hope it won't bother anybody! This fic is intended to be fantasy.

It was a brisk morning in the early days of January when Nishinoya Yuu opened the door of his balcony and breathed in the crisp winter air. The morning was still dark, and when he exhaled his breath fogged around him, the cottony fleece of it briefly illuminated in the glow of his exterior lamp before it dispersed.

Nishinoya grinned.

New Years was a few days past, and he had the overwhelming feeling of being poised on the cusp of _transition_. This year was going to be different. He was sure of it. He could feel it.

He’d signed the mortgage just a few months earlier, and now he was a bonafide property owner. He was sure it shocked nearly everyone who knew him, but the truth was he had always kind of dreamed of his own place in the city. Now all he needed was someone to share it with.

“This year,” he told himself, puffing into the cold air. “This year.” There was the beautiful girl at his favorite bodega who refused to give him the light of day. There was that handsome asshole of a device rep who came by Suga’s office every second Thursday of the month. And his newest drinking buddy had mentioned someone he knew – someone just Nishinoya’s type.

He took another deep breath, cold air filling his lungs like a thousand tiny needles. He imagined ice crystals traveling inward through his body, circulating like oxygen in his bloodstream, cooling the fire that always burned inside him.

 _This year_ , he thought, _this year_.

The hall was dim and quiet when he locked the apartment behind him. The exit light at the stairwell cast a red glow into the small space. Nishinoya slipped the black cord over his neck and tucked his house key in between his t-shirt and sweatshirt. _Once In A Lifetime_ , his sweatshirt said. It was his lucky shirt. Everytime he wore it, something amazing happened. He’d been wearing it when he passed his entrance exam for college. He’d worn it when he got the call from Suga with a job offer. He wondered what was in store for the shirt today.

Nishinoya kicked his toes into the floor to adjust his feet in his sneakers, then bent down to tighten the laces by hand.

He trailed his fingers along the wall as he passed the doors of his neighbors. He’d been spending so much time at work that he hadn’t really had the opportunity to meet them properly since moving in – he’d said hello a handful times to the blond man across from him (though he hadn’t had the pleasure to speak to his noisy and excitable roommate), waved once at the taciturn giant down the hall, and had exchanged a few words with Iwaizumi on the spare occasion.

He’d gotten the referral to the building from Iwaizumi, who he knew tangentially through that device rep at work. What was it his mom had said – he should send Iwaizumi a thank you present? Nishinoya wasn’t sure what made a proper thank you for apartment referrals. Probably not a video game.

Outside the building, he stretched while leaning against the wall. The cold stung at his bare legs, but he knew he’d be sweating soon and glad then that he wore the shorts. He hopped in place a few times to encourage blood flow.

His phone buzzed in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“Yellow!” he chirruped as he placed it next to his ear before even checking who was calling.

“Nishinoya,” Suga’s gravelly voice answered. “Where are you?” “Outside my building,” Nishinoya returned as he hopped a few more times.

“Can you open the office today?” Suga groaned.

“Course I can. What’s the occasion?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying, that’s the occasion.”

Nishinoya laughed. “Dying! That sounds pretty bad, Suga-san!”

“Come by before you go in and I’ll give you the keys.”

“I’m going for a run now so I can swing by your condo. What are you dying of?”

“That’s a very personal question.”

“What should I tell the cops when they find your body?”

“I plan to be eaten by my neighbor’s cat, I’ll have you know.”

“Can I have your TV?”

“Nishinoya,” Suga said with infinite tiredness, “please just come get the keys,”

“Okay, okay!” He shook out his free arm and kicked his feet. “You want me to bring you anything from the shop?”

Suga paused. “Kakkonto,” he said. “Tissues. And soup.”

“What kind of –”

“ _Soup_ ,” Suga insisted forcefully.

“Alright! Anything else?”

“Tell Ennoshita that he’s in charge today.”

“What! You trust me to open but not be in charge?”

“Nishinoya…” Suga’s voice was barely more than a wheeze.

“We’ll talk about this when I get there!” Nishinoya insisted.

“Just bring the medicine,” Suga said.

“I should be there in about thirty minutes,” Nishinoya said. “Don’t die before then.”

“No promises.”

Nishinoya grinned as he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He clapped his hands together. “Alright!” he said to himself. Maybe this was the shirt’s effect today. The morning was beginning to brighten around him, light growing soft and gray as it filtered into the city.

It was a quick jog to the bodega, only enough to warm Nishinoya up. Inside he selected the medicine and small packs of tissues, as well as a couple bottles of tea, his favorite salty rice crackers, and a popsicle, which Nishinoya planned to eat himself along the way. He probably overdid the fillings for Suga’s soup, but – as he got the largest size of oden available, he had to fill it up somehow, right?

The beautiful girl was behind the counter when he went to check out. Nishinoya felt his heart thunder up into his throat. “Good morning, Kiyoko-san!” he half-shouted. “You look absolutely stunning today!”

She looked down her nose at him and didn’t respond as she rang up his order. Nishinoya felt himself shiver all over deliciously. He handed over his money and took the receipt. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” he insisted, but she just turned back to her work.

The cold slapped him again as he went out the door. Nishinoya stood puffing at the corner for a moment with his shopping bags over his forearms and his hands in his pockets while he waited for the walk signal to come on. The train platform was less than a mile away.

The light had grown pink while he was in the shop; it was now after six. Already the sidewalks held more people – early risers, hard workers, students with long commutes to school. Nishinoya hopped from foot to foot as he waited for the signal to change, eager to drop off the groceries and get his run finished before too many were out and about. He’d need to open the office at eight. Even if he showered and changed at work, it would still be a tight squeeze to get to Suga’s and still have enough time after for a good workout.

Perhaps it was this anxiety that caused him to exhale through his nose in frustration, then cast a quick glance down the street. Perhaps he was distracted by the heat of the soup radiating against his left leg, the cold popsicle pressing against his right. Perhaps it was a momentary lapse of judgement, one that any person might have any day, one that in any other case would end with no more than a scuffed knee or a scraped hand. Perhaps his shirt wasn’t really lucky after all.

Nishinoya leaned over to stare down the street, waiting to see if a break in traffic might occur before the signal clicked over. His groceries shifted in their bags. He didn’t think anything of it. Everything was normal.

Someone jostled him from behind. An accident, nothing malicious, just people standing too close at the corner, waiting for the signal to walk forward.

The jostle was enough that he overbalanced. He wobbled ahead on one foot, the other came off the ground in an attempt to correct his stumble, but the heavy bags on his arms pulled him forward. His hands shot out of his pockets instinctively but it was too late – his phone went flying and he heard it clatter against the pavement, the bag holding Suga’s soup fell and the to-go container burst as it impacted the sidewalk, the plastic crunching together as his bags scattered – Nishinoya tumbled off the curb into the street on his hands and knees.

For a breath of a second he oriented himself with his palms flat on the pavement, then he heard shouting voices overlapping and saw his shadow, stark and sharp against a bright light behind him, shortening abruptly on the road. Nishinoya turned and saw the light coming on, heard the screech of brakes and smelled burnt rubber, but there was nothing else to be done in the time remaining before the car hit him.

His last thought tumbled quickly, fleeting like a flash of lightning, glancing over the wasted soup and how Suga was waiting for him, and settled on the image of the rabbit that he’d seen as a child. What a little thing it had been. What a sad scene, laid out as it was on the road. Would they remember him, the people on the corner? Would he haunt them like the little rabbit had haunted him?

There was no time for pain. Nishinoya didn’t remember anything else.

~

“It happened four months ago,” Suga was saying. Nishinoya heard it as though from a long distance off. He fought hard to pull himself together, though he was staring through his hands again, the same way he had in the bedroom after arguing with Asahi.

He was dead, he realized. The last memory he had was staring at the headlights of the car barreling toward him. There was nothing else after. He must’ve died.

Nishinoya felt himself buzzing around the edges like he was an effervescent tablet dissolving into a glass of water. He crossed his arms over his body and clutched at his elbows. He felt like he was suffocating, which he knew was stupid since he didn’t technically breathe. The room grayed out around him, his vision clouding over as it shrank to a tiny pinprick. He was going to disappear again. Who knew how long it would take him to come back this time?

“I had no idea,” Asahi said. His voice broke through Nishinoya’s panic. Nishinoya turned until he found Asahi’s eyes in the darkness.

“His family didn’t try to contact you?”

“We – we didn’t date very long. I don’t think he told them about me.”

Nishinoya reminded himself he didn’t need oxygen, so it was okay if he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t really cry, so if a few tears appeared on his cheeks, they weren’t actually there. He focused on Asahi’s eyes as the room began to stabilize around him. Asahi stared back, solid and real.

“I’m pretty surprised he didn’t tell anyone about you,” Suga said. “Nishinoya wasn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

“That sounds like him,” Asahi said. He was surprisingly calm, Nishinoya noted. He paused only momentarily before offering, “I told him not to tell anyone,” as explanation. Asahi’s face creased. “I’m not…” He rubbed his neck. “I’m not exactly…”

“Out?” Suga offered.

Asahi nodded. His face was red.

Nishinoya remembered how awkward he’d been at their neighbor’s apartment, and had a delayed realization that Asahi had been nervous during their conversation at the table after breakfast. He realized abruptly that Asahi wasn’t lying – not about this.

“You didn’t tell me,” Nishinoya managed to say, though Asahi didn’t reply to him and averted his eyes.

“Was he?” Asahi asked. “I mean… did you know if…” He shrugged. “You didn’t seem surprised.”

Suga gave him a smile. “I think Nishinoya could’ve fallen in love with anything with muscles and a pulse,” he said.

“Suga-san!” Nishinoya huffed in displeasure as he put his hands on his hips.

“Ah,” Asahi returned. That was all, just the one mundane syllable.

“Not to say that I think he didn’t care about you,” Suga said. “Of course.”

“Of course,” Asahi agreed.

Silence fell heavily on the room. Nishinoya fumed for a moment before blurting, “So what happened! That’s it, I’m _dead?_ _End of story?!_ ”

Asahi flinched at his words, and Suga noticed. “This must seem very surreal to you,” Suga said. “Expecting to find Nishinoya and instead having to deal with this.”

“I’m so sorry,” Asahi said softly. His voice sounded thick. Nishinoya tried peering at his face, but Asahi turned away. “You’re his friend, of course. You gave him that painting in his room. It can’t be easy for you to talk about it.”

“It was…” Suga sat back in his chair and looked at the floor. “It was very difficult for us.” He glanced back up at Asahi. “I would never admit it to his face, but Nishinoya was an irreplaceable person.”

“What do you mean you wouldn’t admit it to my face! That’s it, Asahi, I want to talk to him, tell him I’m here.”

Asahi behaved as though he didn’t hear Nishinoya. It was absolutely infuriating. Nishinoya crossed around behind Suga, so that he was in Asahi’s line of sight.

“Tell him you see me!” Nishinoya ordered.

Asahi glared back at him and gave a minute shake of his head.

“Would you like to see him?”

Suga’s statement seemed to surprise Asahi as much as it did Nishinoya. “Wait, what?” Nishinoya asked, at the same time that Asahi said, “You mean, at… his _grave_?”

Suga’s eyes went very wide, and his mouth tightened into a little circle of shock. “Oh my god, _no_!” he blurted. “I’m so sorry!” He grabbed Asahi’s arm and Asahi jumped in response. “I didn’t mean to – I should’ve said – I’m so sorry!”

“I – I don’t understand,” Asahi said slowly.

“I should’ve said from the start!” Suga exclaimed. “Nishinoya isn’t dead!”

Asahi pulled back in shock just as Nishinoya sprang forward.

“ _Really_?!” Nishinoya shouted.

“Really?” Asahi said.

“No!” Suga returned. “He’s – he.” His face fell. “He’s not dead,” he said again. “Not really.”

“What does that mean?” Nishinoya demanded. “What is that supposed to mean?” He pointed at Suga while directing the full blast of his frustration onto Asahi. “Ask him what he means!”

Asahi shrank under the glare. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“He suffered a head injury,” Suga explained. “He hasn’t regained consciousness since the accident.”

Nishinoya found himself speechless. Asahi seemed to have the same problem.

“Would you like to see him?” Suga repeated in the empty space their silence created.

Asahi’s gaze cast upward, finding Nishinoya above Suga’s head. The contact lasted only a moment, but his eyes spoke volumes that Nishinoya could not immediately understand. Then he looked at Suga once more. “Yes,” Asahi said. “Please.”

~

Suga took them to a hospital just outside downtown; they transferred trains to get there. He led them to a wing on the tenth floor of the building. When they stepped off the elevator and through a set of double doors, Suga spoke quietly with a nurse behind the desk, but Nishinoya froze in place and stared hard at the wall near the entrance of the hallway.

 _Trauma and Recovery_ , it said, in large shining black characters set against a glossy reflective wall behind a glass pane.

He felt like he might vomit.

“Are you okay?” Asahi whispered nearby, out of Suga’s earshot.

“I don’t know,” Nishinoya returned. “Probably not.”

Suga returned to them then, ending their conversation. “I can take you in to see him,” he explained to Asahi. “But you’ll need to speak to his family if you would like to be put on the visitor’s list.”

“Yeah, that will go really well,” Nishinoya said.

“I don’t…” Asahi said haltingly, “I don’t know if that would be appropriate.” He shrugged. “They don’t know me, of course.”

Suga gave him a sympathetic grimace. “I understand,” he said. He gestured that Asahi follow him past the desk. “Thank you, Yamaguchi,” he said to the nurse as they passed, and the nurse nodded in response.

Down the hall, they stopped outside the door of room 1016. A printed sign taped to the door said _Nishinoya / Tsukishima_. Suga took hold of the handle and turned it. Nishinoya swallowed hard as the door opened, then he followed them into the room.

The room was darker than the hallway had been with its bright fluorescents. The overhead lights were turned off; it was primarily lit from a pair of table lamps and the window, where the curtains had been pulled back. When Nishinoya’s eyes adjusted, the soft yellow cast felt more close and homey than the stark exterior hallway. He found himself focusing on small details in the room, flowers on the desk, pictures and cards set up on every available surface. The smoothly zig-zagging lines on the monitor. The whoosh and sigh of the respirator. The hum of the bed resettling.

He glanced everywhere but the bed. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the person who lay there as still and quiet as a stone.

“Oh,” Asahi breathed beside him, his voice hushed and trembling. “It’s you,” he said. “Nishinoya.”

“I’ll give you a minute,” Suga said, and Nishinoya heard him leave.

Nishinoya crossed over to the window, which gave him the wonderful view across the road of another building in the hospital complex. A few pedestrian bridges crossed the gap between the two buildings at various levels. They were one story down from the roof across the way. Nishinoya could see the very top of a helicopter rotor above the edge of exterior wall; they must’ve been across from the helipad.

Behind him, Asahi said, “You look alright. Everything looks healed. I think you’re okay.”

Nishinoya finally turned around. _It will be just like looking in a mirror_ , he told himself. He somehow made his feet move toward the bed, taking step after step until at long last he found himself beside it. He looked down. He saw his own body.

For a long moment, Nishinoya didn’t say anything. He stared down at himself, pale and unmoving under a top sheet and cotton blanket. The bedding was folded neatly at his chest so that his arms lay out straight at his sides above the covers. He had an intravenous line in his arm and a pulse oximeter covered his left index finger. Apart from the respirator marring the scene, his face looked smooth and calm, as though he were sleeping. They’d cut his hair at some point, since it was shorter than his hair in his incorporeal form.

Finally, Nishinoya managed, “I’m pretty thin, aren’t I?” “Not so bad,” Asahi insisted. “Your hair looks clean. They’re taking good care of you.”

Nishinoya nodded. He examined himself more closely. It was getting easier the longer he looked. He could see tiny scars in his face, a larger one bisecting his right bicep, where it appeared as though he’d suffered a pretty nasty gash. But everything was healed, all the wounds closed with shiny pink skin. His pulse rate was steady and strong. The respirator hummed along in the background.

Nishinoya breathed a sigh of relief. He felt his shoulders sag under the weight of it. “Yeah,” he said. “Looks like I’m okay.” He scrunched his face together. “So why won’t I wake up?”

Asahi put hand to his face, thumb under his chin. His brow furrowed. “Maybe because you’re…” He gestured at Nishinoya. “Unstuck? Or something?”

Nishinoya considered this. “Like, the accident knocked me out of my body?”

“Maybe,” Asahi said. He thought some more. “Sugawara said you had a head injury,” he offered. “Maybe your brain has to heal before you can go back in?”

“Well, how long does that take?” Nishinoya demanded. All the exterior wounds had healed. Would it take longer for inside his head? It had been four months already. Concussions didn’t take that long.

“I don’t know,” Asahi said, his voice anxious.

Nishinoya looked down at his body in the bed. His cheekbones stuck out sharply in his face; it had lost some of the soft roundness that had always plagued him. His arms were thinner than he remembered, the muscles wasted. Nishinoya lifted a hand to touch his own hair, but his fingers disappeared into the crown of his skull. “Shit,” he said. His throat felt tight. He tried touching his arm, his chest, his hand, all with the same effect. “How do I get back in there?” he said, voice wobbling.

“It’s okay,” Asahi insisted. “We’ll figure it out.”

Nishinoya glanced up at him and found Asahi staring back; his forehead was creased with worry, but his eyes were clear and determined. Nishinoya took a breath and stepped back from the bed. The panic subsided. He fought the tears down. “Right,” he said. His voice grew steadier. “We’ll figure it out.”

He stepped toward the monitors and peered at the rows of waving lines, trying to discern a pattern or explanation. “I wonder if I’m still attached to my body at all?” he sighed.

Asahi made a thoughtful noise. “Stay there,” he said. “I’m going to try something.” Nishinoya began to turn around, a question poised on his tongue, but Asahi cut in, “No, stay there! Don’t look!”

Nishinoya crossed his arms, but he stayed where he was. He closed his eyes. “This better be good,” he said.

At first, nothing happened. Nishinoya’s meager reserves of patience emptied, and he began to tap his foot to relieve the nervous energy. He huffed and chewed the inside of his cheek.

His hand tingled. Nishinoya slowly pulled it out of the crook of his crossed arms. He turned his palm upward and looked curiously at the skin there – a soft tickling sensation traveled the bowl of his palm, tracing the creases of his skin like a fortune teller, his life line, his love line, his fate line. The feeling made goosebumps break out along his arms and sent a shiver crawling up his spine.

Nishinoya turned around. Asahi stood beside the bed; he had Nishinoya’s hand in his own, turned with the palm upward, and he was slowly running his fingers along the inside of it, back and forth, up and down again.

“You feel that?” Asahi asked. He was still touching Nishinoya’s palm, tracing tiny circles with his fingertips.

Nishinoya felt himself shiver again. He closed his hand to try and dispel the tickling feeling. “Yeah,” he said. “I feel it. I feel you.”

Asahi smiled at that. He stopped trailing his fingers along Nishinoya’s palm and instead enclosed Nishinoya’s hand; Nishinoya noted how his hand was dwarfed by both of Asahi’s around it. He felt the barest squeeze as Asahi’s hands tightened. The sensation left him when Asahi gently lowered his hand back to the bed, arranging it with great care.

Nishinoya felt himself blushing at the intimacy of it. They were alone together in the room; Asahi had practically caressed his hand. It was the first time he’d felt someone else’s touch since he’d woken up in the apartment after the accident. An ache opened up in his chest, hollowing out the space of his ribcage with a hurt he couldn’t reason away.

God, he really wanted to be back in his body.

“See?” Asahi said. “You’re still in there.” He smiled again. “You’re still connected. We just gotta figure out how to put you back together again all the way.”

“Any ideas?” Nishinoya stepped back toward the bed.

Asahi thought for a moment. “Should you try just…” He gestured with his hands, bringing his palms together and interlacing his fingers. “Maybe just try to. Climb in?”

Nishinoya laughed in surprise. “What, like squishing a foot into a shoe?”

“Well, I don’t know!” Asahi insisted.

“It’s worth a shot!” Nishinoya said. His spirits had brightened at the flustered expression on Asahi’s face. He braced his hands on the rails of the bed – he didn’t exactly feel them, but his palms didn’t slide through, to his great relief – and climbed onto the mattress.

“Be careful,” Asahi said.

“What do you think I’m gonna do?” Nishinoya demanded. “Not like I can hurt myself or anything.” All the same, he knelt carefully over himself, knees against the mattress on either side of his unmoving legs. He tried to put his hand on his chest again, and his fingers sank in without resistance.

He ignored the unsettled feeling tumbling in his stomach and brought his other hand next to the first. He tried wiggling his fingers experimentally, unseen inside his chest.

"Do you feel anything?"

"I don't know," Nishinoya lied. He felt nothing. Not even the same sensation of warmth he'd felt when he'd passed through Asahi. It was as though he was touching air. "Anything on the monitors?" he asked.

Asahi crossed to the other side of the bed, where he could watch the screen with the zig-zagging lines. "I don't really know what I'm looking at," he admitted. "I guess it looks the same as before."

"Maybe if I..." Nishinoya disregarded any lingering concern that he might jostle his body and turned around quickly, his legs passing through the ones on the bed as though through smoke. He lay down on the bed, arranging as best he could into the same position as his body – his feet aligned, his arms inside each other like nesting dolls, and his head slipping into his own skull.

His vision went black as he brought his head down too far and disappeared fully inside. Instead of pulling back up again he stayed in that position, as though the darkness might focus his senses and bridge the connection. If he closed his eyes and held his breath, he could almost imagine he could feel the inner workings of his body: the lungs filling with air, the blood flowing into his extremities, the heart still beating deep inside.

He heard Asahi's voice calling for him, muffled and distant, as though he were underwater. Nishinoya sat up slightly so that he came back out again.

“I think there was a jiggle on the monitor,”

“A jiggle?”

“Yeah, you know…” Asahi pointed with a finger and moved the digit in a series of sharp bumps. “In the wiggles, there was a jiggle.”

Nishinoya cracked a smile despite the circumstances. “Wow, did you study medicine? What exactly distinguishes a wiggle from a jiggle?”

“I’m just saying I think something happened!” Asahi insisted. “Why don’t you try again?”

Nishinoya still had the grin on his face when he lowered himself back down. When his body swallowed him up again, he tried his hardest this time – though he wasn’t sure exactly what he was trying. He scrunched his face, he wiggled his fingers, he clenched fists. He shuffled and shifted and kicked with his feet. And nothing really happened. He felt no different than before.

He sat up again and huffed in frustration.

“No luck?” Asahi asked.

“No,” Nishinoya returned. He crossed his arms. “This is dumb. I feel stupid. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to do here.”

“You could feel it before, though, right?”

Nishinoya looked up. “What?”

Asahi pressed on insistently. “When I touched your hand. You felt that? You weren’t just pretending for my sake?”

“What would the point of that be?” Nishinoya asked. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

“Then let’s try it again,” Asahi said.

He looked so determined and serious that Nishinoya couldn’t help the little trill that went up his spine. “Okay,” Nishinoya said. When he lay down once more, he kept his face out in the open, so he could watch what Asahi was doing.

Asahi picked up his hand again. He rubbed his thumb into the center of Nishinoya’s palm, and Nishinoya felt a slight pressure in response. “I feel that,” he said.

Asahi nodded. He closed one hand around Nishinoya’s smaller one – Nishinoya had never noticed really how small his hands were, but compared to Asahi’s – and slid his other hand up the inside of Nishinoya’s arm to his elbow. Goosebumps exploded along Nishinoya’s skin in the wake of the action.

“Uh,” he said. “Yeah… that too…” Nishinoya felt heat in his face again, which seemed ridiculous given the situation.

“That’s good,” Asahi said. “That’s something.” He let go of Nishinoya’s arm and moved around to the foot of the bed. He fumbled for a moment on top of the covers, searching for Nishinoya’s ankles. When he found the shape of them underneath the blanket, he gripped tightly with both hands. “What about that?”

Nishinoya tried closing his eyes again. “Maybe…” he said. He was nervous for some reason; a fluttering sensation unsettled his stomach. He suddenly remembered Asahi’s statement to Suga that he found Nishinoya attractive.

“Hmm.” Asahi pulled his hands back, then stood for a moment at the end of the bed with his hand on his chin, his face painted with pensive expression. At length, he stepped back around to the side of Nishinoya’s bed, near his elbow again. “Why don’t you…” he started slowly. “Maybe you can…”

“What is it?”

“How about you” – Asahi made a gesture as though he was pushing something down – “go back inside? I want to try something.”

The nervousness hadn’t dissipated. Nishinoya was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He forced the feeling down; he didn’t need it right now. “Okay,” he said. “Just for a minute, okay?”

Asahi nodded again. Nishinoya took a breath as though he were going underwater and sank back down into his body.

At first, there was nothing. Only the same muffled darkness as before. Nishinoya tried to imagine he was swimming, he was at the bottom of a pool, he was diving for sinking toys like he did as a kid. He wasn’t forcing himself into his own lifeless body, hoping beyond probability that he’d find the way to stick.

A light sensation trailed up his arm. Nishinoya tried to focus on it. _Asahi_ , he thought. The feeling moved up his bicep, continuing on over his shoulder, then up the side of his neck before it disappeared. Nishinoya shivered as though he had experienced a chill.

Something tickled at his face, and Nishinoya’s eyes sprang open, encountering nothing. He had the sudden impression that he was suffocating – he panicked and lifted up his head with a gasp.

Asahi’s face was merely centimeters from his own.

“What- what are you doing?” Nishinoya asked breathlessly.

“Oh,” Asahi said. “I was – nothing. Are you okay?”

Nishinoya’s heart was still racing. He managed to notice that Asahi was blushing. “Did – did you just kiss me?” he demanded.

“No!” Asahi insisted. “I mean, yes. But. Only on your forehead!”

“Why the heck would you do that!”

“I don’t know – I–”

The door opened. Asahi sprang up immediately to his full height.

Suga’s head appeared in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s time to go.”

Asahi glanced down at Nishinoya, his face rent with anxiety. Then he looked back at Suga. “Just one more minute,” he said. “Please.”

Suga nodded and closed the door again, leaving them alone once more. It was silent for a long beat, and then Asahi mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

Nishinoya sat up fully and propped himself up with his arms behind him. “That was kinda weird, Asahi.” “I know,” Asahi said. “I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I thought it would shock you. Like how you surprise someone with hiccups.”

Nishinoya snorted. “Well, that part was successful.”

The corner of Asahi’s mouth came up briefly, then he looked worried again. “What are we gonna do? I won’t be able to come back here again.”

Nishinoya looked down at where his waist disappeared into the blankets over his body. His feet were somewhere unseen, ahead of him on the bed. “I think…” he said. “I wanna stay.”

“Here?” Asahi asked. “In the hospital?”

Nishinoya nodded. He concentrated and found that he could lower his feet to the floor just where he was. From there he stepped out of the bed. He looked back at his body, his slack face under the respirator. “I don’t think I can leave me here,” he said. “Not all alone like this.”

Asahi was quiet. Nishinoya finally glanced at him when the silence grew too much. Asahi asked, “Is this goodbye, then?”

Nishinoya’s stomach sank. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I don’t know.”

Asahi twisted his hands together, obviously fighting for words. “Will you be okay?” he asked in a meek voice.

“Of course I will. I mean, nothing can hurt me, right? And my body’s not in any danger of dying right now–”

“No,” Asahi said. “Not like that.” He put his hand on his chest. “Will you be _okay_?”

Nishinoya wasn’t exactly sure. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

Asahi’s face was still torn. “Will I ever see you again?” he asked.

Nishinoya didn’t know how to answer.

The door opened again, and Suga came in. “I’m really sorry,” he said, and he sounded it. “I have to get back to the office.”

Asahi’s eyes met Nishinoya’s. He exhaled through his nose. “Of course,” he said finally. He looked down again at Nishinoya’s body in the bed. Asahi reached out and gently took his hand.

Nishinoya lifted that hand to his chest, cupping it in the other, holding that moment of connection as closely as he could.

Asahi bent slowly and kissed him again on the forehead. Nishinoya felt the tickle, the same one as before. His hand shot to his forehead, where Asahi touched.

Asahi straightened. He looked like he might cry. “Goodbye, Nishinoya,” he said softly.

Nishinoya felt his own tears sting his eyes. “Goodbye, Asahi,” he returned.

Asahi gave his hand a final squeeze, and then he followed Suga out the door, leaving Nishinoya alone in the room. His only remaining company was the wheeze of the respirator, the hum of the bed, his body there beneath the covers, silent and disconnected and still.


End file.
